


The Final Destination

by HarleyJade



Category: Raske Menn RPF, Ylvis
Genre: Gen, a lot of major characters are going to die, this is inspired by final destination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-09 01:41:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5520653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarleyJade/pseuds/HarleyJade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Due to their charity work Ylvis, Raske Menn and their friends are forced to watch a football game. Suddenly Bård has a vision which saves their lifes, but is the rescue final? Remember, it is hard to cheat death...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iseeyoushineinyourway on tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=iseeyoushineinyourway+on+tumblr).



> This is the Secret Santa gift to iseeyoushineinyourway! I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> This is inspired by the Final Destination movies, so i needed a lot of characters to kill off - and oh how I will kill them. Really, everyone dies at least once, so if you can't stomach gore, this is probably not for you! But, I promise it will be fun anyways!  
> I think it will be a three parter, two parts are done by now, posting the rest during the Christmas days :)

I hate this, thought Bård as he fought not to slump in his seat and scowl. This was just…pointless. There were a thousand other places he would prefer to be than here. Having root canal surgery was just about equal in torment, although it had more going for it since it didn't last as long. But as he and his brother were the head of a new founded charity organization and since their public image had demanded charitable endeavours, he was stuck here. He was one of the sponsors of the charity involved and like it or not, he had to show his face and look willing.  
Still… charity football? Football was dull enough, but usually he didn't have to pretend he enjoyed it.  
He forced something resembling a smile as she looked at the Jumbo-Vision screens and realised that the cameras were panning the crowd. It wouldn't do for him to be seen looking bored and unenthused by the event – even if he was. And the stupid game hadn't even started yet.  
His brothers and a few of his friends and colleagues had chosen to accompany him, one brother on either side, Calle and Magnus sitting next to his little brother Bjarte on his left side, Øyvind Rafto and Anders Hoff on his right side next to his big brother Vegard.  
Magnus was talking enthusiastically to Calle who sat between Magnus and Bjarte who had just gone to get something to eat. Vegard talked to Øyvind about old times at school, which put Bård in a slightly better mood.   
"Dude, chill," piped up Bjarte from beside him, arms laden with goodies. "Here, have some nachos. They're laden with melted cheese!"  
"Aren't you offering me some?" said Magnus, leaning over Calle to grab some of the snacks.  
"Hey, watch it there!" said Calle good-naturedly. "You'll spill cheese all over me!"  
"Low profile, we are being filmed!" said Vegard, rolling his eyes from the seat next to Magnus. "You're supposed to behave!"  
"Vegard, it's fine," said Anders, not exactly happy at being seated next to Vegard rather than his Calle, but knowing it was probably better to have Ylvis between the Raske Menn to not have people think that they came in separate groups.   
"They're not doing anything out of the ordinary."  
"And no one's gonna be paying attention to us," added Øyvind from beside Anders. "Not once the game begins. And by the time it's over, it'll be dark."  
"Yeah, lighten up, Nerd!" said Bård, nudging Vegard in the side and offering over the nachos.  
"Over here!" Calle grabbed for a handful while Bård settled the rest of his snacks on his knee, glancing up at the hot air balloon hovering above the stadium. The electronic sign on the side extolled the virtue of the charity that the ticket sales were going towards, while various sponsors' logos also flashed up on occasion, always followed by their logo. Bård amused himself for a moment trying to work out when the logo of Concorde TV would pop up. When it finally came on, Calle held up a hand and Vegard leaned across Bård for the high-five, almost spilling some of the food in his lap. "Score!" Magnus shook his head, a smile on his face.  
"So, won't you stand up and present yourselves to the crowd?" taunted Bjarte. Vegard and Bård glared for a moment, then grabbed a handful of nachos from the tub in Bård's hand and threw them at their little brother. Bjarte jerked back, some of the mess splatting onto his clothes, a couple of the nachos sticking to Calle's jeans.  
"Thanks, you assholes," he said dryly, picking them off and flicking them to the floor.  
"Sorry Calle," called Vegard, his lips twitching slightly as he tried not to laugh at his resigned expression.  
Shaking his head, Calle smiled and stood. "I'm gonna hit the bathroom before the game starts anyway, before it gets too grungy."  
"Good plan," replied Anders, also getting up. "See you in five minutes."  
"Bring back more nachos!" shouted Bård after them as the pair headed off up the steps.  
Before the men had gone out of sight, the floodlights highlighting the field lit up, casting the seating into more shadow.  
„I bet they never sit down pissing, those pussies...“ Øyvind grinned at Vegard, inviting him in on the joke.   
Vegard rolled his eyes:"You guys are so juvenile."Magnus leaned over Calle's empty seat to join the discussion. "Actually, there's no reason why women can't go standing up, but it would take a…"  
"And how do you know?" Bjarte elbowed Magnus, who immediately got flustered.   
"I uh, well, it was in that film that time…"  
"Oh? You like those kind of films Magnus?"  
Magnus sunk even further into the seat, which was not easy given his tall frame.   
"It wasn't one of those kind of films! It was something I watched at Calle's house, 'The Full Monty'!"  
"Ah, the other kind of those kind of films!" said Vegard, beginning to enjoy teasing his colleague.  
"No! It's a comedy."  
"So you've seen it then?" Vegard tried to set his expression to serious. "How long were you going to keep your male stripper videos a secret?"  
"And you know what it's about Vegard," teased Bjarte. "Anything you wanna tell us?"  
Usually Bård would have joined in the teasing, probably managing to set himself up for a joke in retaliation by speaking without thinking, but his attention was elsewhere. For some reason he couldn't bring himself to listen much to his brothers and friends, instead taking in the crowd around him, the scene before him. He could see the lights illuminating the field, the players not yet there but surely just a matter of time.   
The Jumbo-Vision changed views, from a wide of the crowd to a close up of a black haired woman which the brothers recognized as Maria Mena, a famous Norwegian singer, standing and waving as she realised she was on view, revealing a short mini dress. Beside her, her husband, Eivind Sæther,  
glared angrily as the crowd hooted and cheered.  
"Cute," commented Øyvind, the previous subject of discussion abruptly forgotten. Vegard nodded, then remembered himself and added, "She is not really my type though."  
"Who cares about your type?" Øyvind sniggered, ducking more nachos as Vegard grabbed another handful from Bård's supplies and threw them. Bård barely noticed. Something didn't feel right…  
"Can the guy talk," said Bjarte. "The ladies are on their way back." Bård turned to see Calle pause at the top if the steps, stopping to brush some stray hair out of his face.  
Anders raced down seven or eight steps, closing in on his friends before realising Calle was lagging behind and turning to shout up at his colleague to hurry.  
And then a grinding sound from above caught everyone's attention and as they all looked up, the hot air balloon hit a transmission tower standing on the back of the section in which they sat. There was an immediate backflow of incredibly hot air and from that moment, time seemed to speed up for the friends.  
The initial gust knocked those on the back rows crashing into the seats in front of them and then to the ground. Those having the bad luck to have been standing too close were sent flying, falling. One man, not too tall but with an impressive beer gut, had the misfortune to be standing on the top step nearest the impact and was knocked off his feet, barrelling straight down. He slammed straight into Anders as he was raising a hand to shield his eyes, the two of them crashing down the steps. They hit the step beside the horrified friends, Anders on the bottom, then continued to roll. All they left beside the friends was a bright smear of blood, droplets raining down on the steps as they fell further. It took less than five seconds.   
Panic hit every spectator, even those far enough away that they would not be affected and as one, everyone rushed for the exit.  
Toward the balloon.  
Calle had barely turned around to see what had happened to the hot air balloon before the self-preservation instinct of everyone else took over. He turned back and saw a sea of humanity rushing toward him. He took a step backward, tried to turn… and then the mob was upon him and he was carried along for only a second until someone desperately seeking the exit shoved him aside, to the floor. Those attempting to escape the crush and the flee didn't see a fellow person trying to get up, only an obstacle getting between them and survival. Calle didn't have the chance to try to get up before scores of people were walking over him, trying to get to safety, most of them not even realising that beneath them there was someone fighting to get up, to breathe...  
"Calle!"  
Øyvind stood, unable to comprehend how things had gone so wrong so quickly. Barely ten seconds had gone by since the explosion and now he couldn't see him…"Øyvind, no!" Vegard grabbed his arm, trying to stop him. "He'll be fine, he'll be going through the exits, we have to get out!"  
At that point, the balloon began to fall apart. Shards of machinery, propelled by deadly force, flew outwards and the stands. Several of those in the front few rows, who had scrambled onto the field realising that the normal escape routes led them closer to the blazing wreckage, were suddenly cut off as the electronic sign of the balloon hit the space in front of them. Some were lucky; they had already made it away.  
Maria Mena was not. Nor was her husband. Common sense and instinct told her to run as soon as she knew something was happening – and truth be known, that was quicker than those around her. However, she had spent valuable seconds assessing the situation – and by that time, there were people heading over the barrier between her and the field. About to follow, the message board hit in front of them, cutting off their exit, rains of metal thrown into the field before them.  
The scoreboard landed directly on top of one unlucky man, a blond woman fleeing with him screaming as she turned her head – and then ran on, no longer concerned about her companion. A moment later, a flying shard of metal lodged in the side of her head, throwing her in a 180 degree spin just in time to be hit by a second, going less deep but not any less deadly. The woman sank to her knees, blonde hair falling from where it had been separated from her sensible cut by the sharp metal. Then her eyes rolled and she fell unceremoniously on her face.  
Twenty seconds.   
Somewhere within the hot air balloon was an explosion.  
Fire blossomed from within the balloon, still airborne, and suddenly the people who had come to watch a charity football game had fire fall on them from above as more pieces of the balloon came loose, this time alight.  
"ØYVIND!"  
Vegard lost his grip on Øyvind as he used all his strength to shake off the dark haired man and head off after Calle, the last place he had seen him. The crowds were thick, screaming, smoke beginning to add to the confusion. And unknown to the friends, a bottleneck had been created. More people going out than there was room for, jammed up, falling through to be trampled, the occasional person managing to escape with their lives. Those capable of giving out coherent orders were being disregarded by the panicked masses.  
"Shit!" Vegard made another grab as Øyvind leapt over the seats, but the mans fear for his friend lent him speed and Vegard missed.  
"ØYVIND, YOU IDIOT, COME BACK HERE!" Bjarte roared, the situation confusing him as much as his brothers. They were used to crowds, blinking lights and loud sounds… but not so many people, not so much pandemonium.  
Twenty-five seconds.  
Vegard scanned the area, trying to see another way out. The board from the balloon had landed in front of the field but it still seemed like a better route than the mess at the exits…  
And then he spotted Maria Mena.  
She leapt aside, a deadly chunk of the propeller heading her way, acting on nothing but instinct. The same propeller passed above the friends' head by maybe five inches, going ever closer to ground as the woman rolled under the seats…  
And hit the husband she had left behind, crushing his bones and setting his body aflame.   
Immediately, she scrambled from beneath the seats, clothes torn, filthy, panicked and screaming, but alive.  
Twenty-eight seconds.  
"Someone grab Øyvind!"   
Vegard barked the order and leapt for Maria, seeing something that she missed as she crawled from beneath the seats – another piece of metal heading right for her.  
Bjarte didn't pause, used the tops of the chairs as stepping-stones to go after their friend.   
Vegard grabbed Maria and threw her aside roughly before she even had the time to register who he was, diving after her. The chunk of metal passed above their heads and slammed into the field.  
The stands gave a sickening lurch as the supports beneath began to give way, the pillars weakened by the initial impact, beginning to crack. The movement threw people to the floor, others able to keep their balance scrambling over the fallen, the thought of survival overcoming their compassion for those they ignored.  
The lurch also shook the balloon further and more debris fell, raining down. Forced to pause as he fought to keep his footing on the precarious seat backs, Bjarte yelled a warning – and then chunks of white hot metal from the crashed balloon fell onto the crowd, wiping out everyone by the doors.  
Including Øyvind, who was at the periphery as the debris fell.  
The sudden heavy hail of metal weakened the stands supports still further and one of the pillars beneath suddenly cracked, causing the entire stand to suddenly lean to one side. Vegard, still getting to his feet, was hurled backwards, falling into a twisted pile of metal and plastic that the seats had been forced into. A pole, twisted off at one side and now wickedly sharp, punctured through the side of his neck and punched through the other side. His eyes grew wide as his hand moved to where the skewer had emerged… then his hand twitched and flopped to the floor, his muscles relaxing as blood poured out of him.  
"NOOOO!"  
Magnus and Bård screamed in perfect unison, a sound that might have been funny in any other circumstances. Bjarte turned his head, hearing them even over the sound of the screaming and crashes, wondering for a moment what they were shouting about – then seeing a green hand lying in a puddle of blood and realised what had to have happened.  
Maria crashed beside Vegard only seconds after he was impaled by the spear, avoiding serious injury but bruised and battered. She spared a glance at Vegard, giving him a silent thank you for saving her life, before getting down to the business of staying alive and trying to get back to her feet. But the ground was still shuddering and as she glanced up, another piece of the wrecked balloon hit her shoulder, rendering the entire arm instantly numb. Trying to shield her head, she took two steps forward, promptly slipped on Vegard's blood and fell back against the mangled wreckage. An almost perfectly square piece of metal, part of a sign advertising the local sport radio station, span in an almost lazy rotation toward her, slicing into her throat and coming to a stop only as it severed through her spine. In what seemed like slow motion, her head fell backward, supported only by a small flap of skin, and her body collapsed to hide the remnants of Vegard.  
With cold certainty, Bjarte knew that they would all die unless they moved. Now. No more thinking of anyone else – this was his family and they were dying to save others who would still be in peril. He had to do something, to get Magnus and Bård away and it was no good to worry about those he couldn't see or those he knew were already dead.  
Like Vegard…  
He ran back down, to where his brother and his friend were.   
"Bård! Magnus!" Bjarte jumped and stood landed beside them a second after the sign beheaded Maria, Bård staring after her, in shock. "MOVE!"  
Thirty-nine seconds.  
A second explosion. The balloon blew outward, filled with helium. The shocks carried down, tampering still further with the integrity of the stands, already buckling and straining under the extra weight and the loss of one pillar.  
"Fuck!" Bjarte threw himself forward as a piece of a billboard from the top of the stands flew toward them. Roughly ten feet across, it sloped down in an almost perfect angle, cutting through those unlucky enough to still live.  
The three friends hugged the floor, noting how much warmer it got in even those few moments, as the metal flew above their heads.  
"We leave. Now." Bjarte stood, looking ready to give orders, since Bård seemed to be under shock after Vegard's death and Magnus had never been the leader type and didn't seem ready to become it right now. Instead, another part of the billboard – smaller, but no less deadly – slammed into the back of his head, jerking his head forward. A surprised look crossed his face and for a moment, Bård couldn't work out what had happened.  
"Bård?"  
"…uh…."  
Bjarte fell, the wound around the sign barely bleeding at all.   
Bård's eyes widened in horror, his hands grabbing for his little brother –   
and then another hand took his.  
Magnus.  
"Bård, we have to go!"  
"But my brothers! Bjarte! And Veg..." Bård's voice gave in to his shock.  
"We can't help them, move!"  
Stumbling, Bård got to his feet, grabbing Magnus' hand, more for comfort than for staying together – the smoke had gotten thick...  
"Forward!" Magnus pulled Bård down, toward the field rather than the exits.  
"Magnus…"  
"It's the only chance! It's blocked up there!"  
Coughing over the smoke that had thickened noticeably, Bård stumbled after Magnus…  
Forty-five seconds.  
There was another lurch at the stands as another of the weakened supports gave way. Alarmed, Bård felt the steps seem to give beneath them, crumbling, unstable.  
He grabbed Magnus' wrist with his free hand just in time. The floor gave way and Magnus fell straight down, the only thing between him and a long fall the grip Bård had on his wrist. Bjarte was yanked to the ground by Magnus' weight, but managed to keep from falling into the hole himself – and kept his grip.  
"I gotcha Magnus…."  
Bård tightened his fingers around the taller man's wrist, the fabric of the pullover Magnus wore hindering him. The damn material wanted to slip through his fingers. But Bård was set on not letting go on his only living friend, even if Magnus was a lot heavier than he was. He was determined to not let go.  
But he could see Magnus' eyes wide, his legs dangling over a chasm filled with fire. At some point, a flaming part of the balloon had set off a chain reaction beneath the stands and Bård's heart sank as he realised that beneath them, it was no safer than where they were now.  
"Pulling you up!"  
But he could also feel the steps around him complain, knowing they wouldn't hold for long…  
Then the flames around Magnus receded suddenly. Magnus glanced down, looking back up at his friend with wide eyes.  
"Bård! It's a backflash, RUN!"  
And then Magnus pulled his way from Bård's hands and let himself fall.  
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"  
For a second, time slowed and it was as if Bård could see every movement his friend made as he fell into the pit… and then Magnus' words took over him and Bård shrunk back even as flames sprang out of the hole where Magnus had been.  
One minute.  
Bård stood; knowing he had to go somewhere, do something….  
Go where? Do what?  
He had let his brothers die. He had let his friends die.  
There was another noise and Bård turned toward it, already knowing what it had to be. The balloon had taken all it could of being airborne and was crashing into the stands.  
No way he could avoid it. No way, even if he ran as fast as he could, ducked, dodged – it was too big. It would bury him.  
Bård screamed as the balloon smashed down, the canvas hitting him, his skin immediately overwhelmed by the heat. The agony was immense. He could see nothing, his eyes melting in the overwhelming heat, opening his mouth to scream again and hearing nothing emerge…  
…And suddenly, things were different.  
Bård gasped, jerking backwards, blinking, feeling the plastic beneath his ass, the snacks nestled comfortably on his lap. His arm was outstretched, the comforting weight of nachos in his hand.  
Turning in that direction, he could see Øyvind grabbing the nachos, shoving several into his mouth.  
Øyvind buried beneath the remains of the balloon…  
And between himself and Øyvind, Vegard, his head just fine, leaning back so Bård could offer the treats.  
Vegard got impaled…   
Bård managed a shaky smile. The whole thing had been some kind of awful, crazed daydream, maybe a hallucination. He obviously needed the downtime more than he had thought.  
Calle suddenly held up a hand and Vegard leaned across Bård for the high-five, almost spilling some of the food in his lap. "Score!" Magnus shook his head, a smile on his face.  
Ignoring him, Bård looked at Vegard, telling himself it was a coincidence. It had to be. The deja-vu he was feeling would pass. Calle and Vegard hadn't done those same things in his – daydream. Or if they had, it was because he knew the way they behaved. Nothing more sinister than that. Bård stared at his brother and his friend, trying hard to reconcile their presence, telling himself that he hadn't seen Calle trampled and killed by the crowd, that Vegard hadn't been impaled…  
"So, won't you stand up and present yourselves to the crowd?" taunted Bjarte. Vegard glared for a moment, then grabbed a handful of nachos from the tub in Bård's hand and threw them at their little brother. Bjarte jerked back, some of the mess splatting onto his clothes, a couple of the nachos sticking to Calle's jeans.  
Bård slammed his body back into his seat, hard, almost panting. He had heard this conversation, this exact conversation, minutes before his brothers and all his friends had been engulfed by the tragedy that struck the game.  
He looked up at the balloon, noticing it getting ever closer and seeming to dip, flying even lower. Low enough to hit the stands?   
"…We have to get out…"  
Vegard shook his head, a smile on his face. "I never thought we'd be proud to see that stupid logo… but really Bård, you look a bit too unhappy..."  
Vegard gave Bård a curious look. "You alright Bård?"  
"Out. We have to go. Now.  
""What are you talking about?"   
"We have to leave…"  
"I'm gonna hit the bathroom before the game starts," said Calle, standing.  
"Good plan," replied Anders, also standing.  
"NO!" Bård leapt to his feet, suddenly scared out of his wits. No way was this stuff a coincidence. The feeling of dread had settled deep within his chest and although he knew he was probably being stupid, he didn't care. He needed to get out – but more, he needed everyone else to get out. Away from disaster, away from this place, this place that was feeling like the place he would die.  
Calle looked at him, frowning. "Bård…?"  
"We have to go! NOW!"  
Vegard put a restraining hand on Bård's arm. "Bård, sit down and stop messing about. You're gonna attract too much attention to us."  
Bård grabbed Vegard's hand and tried to yank him from his seat. "We gotta leave! The balloon's gonna crash! We'll die if we stay!"  
"Bård, shut up…" Bjarte looked around, realising there were people beginning to look at them.  
"EVERYONE GET OUT! WE'LL DIE IF WE DON'T! THE BALLOON'S GONNA CRASH!"  
"Bård!" Vegard jumped up and grabbed Bård's arms. "Stop it! The reporters will write that we finally went nuts!"  
"WE GOTTA LEAVE!"  
"Get him outside," said Magnus, his face a mask of worry. "We'll take him guys, you stay…"  
"NO ONE STAYS!"  
Bård ripped his arms from Vegard's, turning to stare at Øyvind, then at Calle and Anders. "You don't understand… you'll die if you don't get out…"  
"We'll all leave Bård," said Calle, looking concerned. "We can always come back later on."  
„What? We can't do that, the press...“ Vegard interjected.  
„Do you want them to write that your brother was probably under the influence of drugs or something?“ Calle replied.  
Vegard looked at him and sighed, letting Bård lead him away.  
"Come on then, move!" Bård ran for the stairs, ensuring everyone was coming with him. He opened his mouth to scream another warning – but Bjarte hit him in the back of the head, hustling him out.  
The security guard on the doors gave them a suspicious look as they left before the game even began, Bård searching for a fire alarm, something that would alert people to leave – but he saw nothing.  
He stared at the security guard beseechingly, beginning to speak. "There's gonna be an accident in stand…."  
Vegard punched him in the head again and shoved Bård forward, giving the guard the closest he could to an apologetic smile. "Sorry, comedians, always trying to be funny."  
The guard nodded curtly.  
"We have to get everyone out!" Bård turned back to the field, only to be dragged away by the others.  
"Bård, stop making a scene!" hissed Magnus. "You'll make people notice us!"  
Unknown to any of them, Bård's freak out had already alerted people.  
Maria, sat trying to look amused, suddenly paused as she heard a familiar voice.   
"EVERYONE GET OUT! WE'LL DIE IF WE DON'T! THE BALLOON'S GONNA CRASH!"  
Bård Ylvisåker. She'd know it anywhere.  
She turned and watched as he was bundled out of the seats, a concerned frown on her face. If one of the Ylvis brothers was having a breakdown, was she not obliged to help? They had always been nice to her. And she could also appear compassionate and helpful in front of the journalists, something that never failed to produce positive response in the media.  
Mind made up, she got up and followed them out. Her husband followed, he was happy to get out of the spotlight.   
There were others who, alerted or distracted by Bård's ramblings, also got up and left.  
Outside the stadium, Vegard dragged Bård far enough away from the place and whirled him around, getting into his face. The others held back, Bjarte and Magnus standing by Bård and facing the stadium, Øyvind, Calle and Anders watching out from other sides.  
"What was that?" Vegard snarled, ignoring the fear in his brothers eyes. "If it's a joke Bård, it's not funny!"  
"…Not a joke…"  
"We've been looking forward to this for weeks, the journalists and about 20.000 people were watching us and you have to play some stupid prank and…."  
Vegard suddenly realised that everyone was staring at some point behind him. "What?"  
He turned as the screams began.  
The balloon had crashed into the stand where they had been sitting not five minutes before. From their vantage point, they could see the sparks, the flames… and from where they had been, knew how many people were still in there.  
Vegard turned back to Bård, his face wild. "How did you know?"  
"Happened…" Bård seemed on the verge of shock. "I should have tried harder, I should have saved them…"  
The seven men stared up in shock as in less than a minute, the whole place was engulfed in flames.  
"We have to help!" Magnus shouted, no doubt thinking of those they had been seated amongst. He took two steps forward, only for Bård to grab his arm.  
Magnus turned and looked into his colleagues eyes – eyes that seemed haunted.   
"There's nothing you can do – anyone can do."  
Maria, already outside when the stadium went up, turned and gaped. How had Bård known? Had he planned this, been part of it? But no, that was unthinkable, Bård was not a terrorist!   
"We would've been in there!" said her husband in awe.  
In the fuss and uproar around the stadium, Maria saw Vegard suddenly snap back to his senses and start talking hurriedly. She asked her husband to wait for her for a minute slipped closer, not wanting to talk to them after Bård's miracle panic attack, but too curious about what they were talking.  
It occurred to Vegard that Bård had been shouting – and any survivors could have heard him. They were in real danger of being spotted should any survivor recognise them as the ones who left because of what he said, assuming prior knowledge – and it would be hard to explain that Bård knew of the accident beforehand.  
"We have to get away from here. Right now."  
Magnus nodded, looking nauseous. "Can we risk the Concorde van?"  
"We have to," replied Calle. "Lucky we didn't park in the car park. Come on, let's hurry."  
Maria was close enough that she was able to overhear the last of the conversation – the blond man from Raske Menn, she could not quite remember his name, hadn't stopped staring at the arena, but now he turned her gaze onto Bård.  
"Bård – how did you know?"  
Staring at the ground, looking like he was about to faint, Bård shook his head. "I don't know. I just saw it all and – I knew it was gonna happen. Just like that."  
"We can talk about it later," said Calle, his voice much more quiet and subdued than usual. "We gotta get away before anyone thinks to ask questions."  
The group moved away and Maria lost them in the panicked crowds.  
Little was said in the van as the group made their way back to the lair. Occasionally, one of the assembled would give Bård a curious look, thinking about asking something – but Bård stared out of the window, refusing to meet their eyes. And the reality of all those people dying, people they   
had been sitting amongst only minutes before it happened, was weighing heavily on them all.  
That and the fact they were so nearly all killed.  
The moment they entered the office,   
Calle was up on his feet and hurried to the TV, wanting to see the news reports about the incidents. As soon as their co-workers spotted the group, the came towards them and greeted them, relief on their faces. "Oh my god! Are you uninjured? We have just seen a news report saying that there has been an accident at the stadium."  
"We're fine!," replied Vegard in a small voice that was miles away from his usual confident   
tones.   
"Thanks to Bård." Bjarte said under his voice. yarTheir secret gave Bård a curious look and   
the usually upbeat man stared at the floor. Vegard excused them and started leading his friends and colleagues to their private office.  
"Um… maybe I outta take Anders home," said Øyvind with a sudden and uncharacteristic burst of   
sensitivity. "If it's been on the news, our wife's gonna worry. And you should call your families, too!"  
"Good thinking," said Calle, heading for the elevator. "We'll see you later guys – and uh,   
thanks Bård. I don't know how you knew, but I'm glad you did."  
The brothers and Magnus muttered their goodbyes and waited, knowing that if anyone could get Bård to talk about how he had known what would happen, it would be them.  
"Bård," said Vegard calmly. "What happened?"  
Bård shrugged, finally meeting his big brothers' eyes. "It was – well, it was really weird. We were   
all talking and then Calle and Anders were coming back from the   
bathroom and then the balloon crashed and everyone was – dying and   
then it was all back to normal and…"  
Vegard raised a hand and Bård stopped. "Slow down. You believe you had a –vision?"  
"Not really," said Bård with a frown. "It wasn't like that, not like doing drugs or something, at least I think so. It was real... It was just like I was there. The balloon crashed into the stands. Someone falling hit Anders and Calle just – vanished when everyone ran to the doors. Øyvind went after her and Bjarte went after him, but then Vegard went after Maria Mena and he…"   
„Maria Mena?“  
„Yeah, she was there, too!“ He shot Vegard a haunted look. "Øyvind got hit by falling bits. Then Vegard fell and a piece of metal went – it went right through his neck. And then Maria got hit too and then Bjarte – a piece of metal went right through the back of his head. Then me and Magnus  
tried to get away but the stands collapsed and Magnus fell and I grabbed him but…" Bård shook his head, his voice breaking. "And then the balloon fell and hit everyone left, I was burning alive…"  
Bård trailed off and Magnus rested a comforting hand on his arm. Bård gave him a watery smile and continued. "And then suddenly I was back in my seat, giving the nachos to Øyvind. I was beginning to think I imagined the whole thing, but then everyone was having the same conversations they were having before – when the balloon crashed. What are the odds of that? And I knew I wasn't imagining things, so I panicked."  
There was a moment's silence, then Vegard looked at Magnus. "I don't see how Bård could have known what would happen…"  
"But he did," replied Bjartefirmly, noticing how Bård seemed detached and distracted – he suspected that his brother was having trouble dealing not only with what he had seen, but that it had come to pass.   
"Bård, sit. Vegard, make coffe."  
"Actually, I think I just wanna be alone for a while." Bård took another long look at his   
brothers, then headed to his private office. Bjarte took a couple of steps after   
him, but Vegard put a restraining arm out.  
"I think he needs some time to think about what has happened tonight."  
"But Vegard…" Magnus frowned, looking unhappy. "It just isn't possible. The future hasn't   
happened yet, how could Bård know what was going to happen? There's   
no explanation for it!"  
Vegard sighed. „And yet, he knew and it happened. You know I always believe in empirical facts only, and I can not explain it with facts at the moment. It should be impossible, but here we stand, alive and well.“  
"Yeah, it doesn't matter how it happened," Bjarte cut in." Bård knew. Otherwise, we'd be   
buried under the stadium along with all those others."  
There was quiet as they contemplated this, then Vegard sighed. "Maybe we ought to check out the TV. See what the news has to say – and if they mentioned the fuss Bård made in the stands. Because if anyone saw that and escaped to tell the authorities, we could have another problem on our hands."  
The rest of the night was spent in contemplative silence as the news footage aired. The tragedy was on every station, solemn presenters estimating the death toll, footage of the burning stadium shown on a live feed. Looking at the building made them all feel queasy, knowing how close they had come to being trapped in there.  
Vegard kept glancing up to Bård's office, wondering. The question of how his little brother had known kept floating around in his mind, but he tried to push it away. The how wasn't important. What was important was that Bård had been delivered a hell of a shock that night if indeed he had   
witnessed them die.   
They stayed at the office that night, the brothers and Magnus wanted to give Bård the space he needed, and they didn't even think of sleep after the tradegy they barely fled. Once or twice, he saw his brother's shadow on the wall, looking out over them but staying out of sight. Figured. If   
Bård had seen what he said, and Vegard had no reason to believe he hadn't, he'd want to keep them all in sight.  
I wish I'd believed him.   
The thought intruded on Vegard's thoughts over and over. If he'd believed Bård instead of thinking   
it was a joke, maybe there was something they could have done to get more people out of there before the balloon had crashed….  
"Maria!"  
"Huh?" Bjarte turned to Vegard, jolted from his own thoughts.  
"Bård said in his – whatever it was, he saw her die. She could have been killed in the accident."  
Vegard sighed. He had been so absorbed in his own thoughts that Maria Mena had ben temporarily forgotten. He could imagine how it might have been in the panic to escape the destruction.  
Or he could just ask Bård, since he didn't have to imagine it.   
"I don't know what to make of any of this!" said Magnus in frustration.  
"You don't have to make anything out of it," replied Vegard. "Just accept that it happened – and be   
glad you're alive.“  
Magnus nodded soberly. "I am, believe me. But I wish…"  
"That we took Bård seriously? That we did something instead of running?" Vegard slammed a fist into the worn arm of the sofa. "We all do."  
"Hindsight is 20/20," Bjarte responded. "It is easy to blame ourselves – but we had no way of knowing."  
The friends nodded, eventually drifting off to sleep on the office chairs themselves. All things considered, it had been a hell of a day.  
Bård stayed awake.  
He watched his brothers and Magnus from the safety of his office, heard them talking about him. He had no idea how he had known. He shouldn't have known. But if they lived, he   
was glad he had done.  
But he couldn't face them. The way they looked at him, like he was some kind of freak, just because of the damn vision – and why did he have the vision anyway? Shouldn't   
it have been Vegard? Vegard was always overthinking things, always thinking ahead, and   
he would have known what to do. Vegard wouldn't have panicked. Vegard   
would have saved everyone.  
So many people had died…  
It was late – very late – when he went to check on them. He couldn't escape the feeling that they   
shouldn't be there.  
Ninja-quiet, he looked in on them.   
Vegard was on his side, curled up on a big boss chair. Bjarte was on his back, feet lifted onto the table, snoring loudly. And magnus lay facedown, his face planted on a the table, the light still on. Smiling slightly, Bård turned off the light and left them there.  
"We are okay, Bård!"  
Bård let out a shriek, then realised it was Vegard who stood up and grinned, covering his   
embarrassment.  
„Are you worried?"  
"Of course I am!" Bård let his true emotions out, something he would never have done had his brother not been so understanding. "I saw you die – you would have died! What if it happens again? What if it's not over? I don't wanna be the voice of doom!"  
Vegard answered him calmly. "There is no reason to believe something like that will happen again. It is not something that happens everyday. And should it occur again, it is better that than the alternative."  
"Amen to that," said Bård fervently. "I just keep thinking… all those people."  
"There was nothing more that you could do." Vegard sighed, his eyes distant. "I am just grateful   
that we are all safe. Perhaps you should try to get some sleep."  
"Maybe," replied Bård, touching Vegard's shoulder lightly and returning to his office. For a few minutes at least. His usually familiar surroundings were not the comfort he usually found them, reflecting the oppressiveness of his thoughts back at him. Instead, he crept back out and settled himself in front of the television, being sure to avoid any news channels and   
keeping the volume on low so as not to wake anyone.  
Which is where Vegard found him when he awoke a few hours later.  
Vegard paused on his way to the kitchen, regarding Bård for a moment. His little brother was sleeping with his head leant back over the couch and the remote still clasped loosely in one hand. Pretty obvious that the previous days events had upset him.  
Vegard was willing to believe that Bård had seen a premonition of the accident the day before – their continued existence seemed to prove that much. He just hoped that   
Bård would regain his sunny demeanour soon and learn that he couldn't be held responsible for what had happened.  
I should be dead by now, he thought, still trying to find a way to fit the thought into his head.   
And not just them, their friends and others who had left when Bård kicked up a fuss. Enough. It was over. He was just grateful to have this second chance at life.  
Quietly, he snuck off and left Bård to sleep, cautioning Bjarte and Magnus to leave him be when they emerged from the office early – the events of the day before had robbed them of their sleep. They were happy enough to let him sleep on, guessing he'd been up most of the night. It wasn't a weekday, so their co-workers wouldn't come to the office today anyways.   
It was only a minute or so past eight when Bård suddenly shot awake, head jolting up, dropping the remote control. His foot landed on it a moment later, managing to both change the channel and raise the volume.  
"… Down the waterfall, where ever it may take me…"   
"Bård! Turn it down, I can't hear myself think over here!" yelled Bjarte, startled.  
"… I know that life won't break me when I come to go…"   
Bård snagged the remote and fumbled with it for a second before pressing the mute button, cutting off the singer mid-lyric. "Now can you hear yourself thinking Bjarte? Wait,   
there's still no thought!"  
"I should…" Bjarte wandered out from the kitchen shaking a fist at his brother. In truth, he was just happy to see that Bård was more like himself, rather than the creepy detachment he had shown the night before.  
But Bård wasn't looking at Bjarte.   
Instead he was staring at the darkened TV, trying to remember just what the hell he had been dreaming about before he awoke. It had seemed ominous, but the details escaped him. In spite of that, he still felt that something was wrong…  
Like a disturbance in the force?   
Get real. Probably still just weirded out from what happened last   
night.   
"Bård?"  
Bård forced himself to pay attention to Bjarte, who was looking concerned. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine."  
"Magnus got us sandwiches, you want some?"  
"You let Magnus get breakfast?" Bård tried to force his usual morning cheer. "Do you want us all to die?"  
"I heard that Bård!" shouted Magnus from the door of the office. Bård grinned, attempting to shake off that weird feeling. Magnus' taste wasn't terrible, entirely passable, but it was a standing joke within the office after he got engrossed in a mobile game while choosing a pizza and ordered  
one with anchovies, artichokes and bananas by mistake.  
"Well…" Bård pretended to think it over. "I guess since Vegard and Bjarte aren't fighting over   
the bathroom or foaming at the mouth, they can't be that bad.   
Maybe if I add plenty of ketchup?"  
"You want me to feed these to the cat?"  
"We don't even have a cat!"   
Bård stood up and struck a dramatic pose. "For Magnus' imaginary cat, I shall make any sacrifice! Even eating – Magnus' sandwiches! "  
But he still had a bad feeling as he went into the office kitchen to eat his breakfast.

Anders went out early. Every time he tried to sleep, he was woken by nightmares of burning alive in the inferno of the stadium and he had given up on sleep entirely at about 5am. By eight, he was dressed and out of the door.  
He savoured every moment of his aimless walk – the colours of the world, the noise of the traffic,   
the feel of the air on his skin. His brush with death the day before had made him appreciate being alive so much more. Smiling to himself, he suddenly decided he wanted a coffee. He rarely drank the stuff, but at that moment he craved mocha, with cream and sugar. The kind of coffee that was more of a desert than a beverage. The best place to get one of those was a shop in the mall and glancing at his watch, he realised it would just about be open by the time he got there.  
Sure enough, he arrived five minutes after opening and made his way up the escalator to the second floor, where the coffee shop was. Pausing briefly outside the sporting goods shop, he noticed a security guard wrapping yellow tape around a missing pane of glass that prevented the incautious falling from the second floor down to the first.  
"What happened?" he asked curiously.  
"Some nut tried to steal a Baseball bat from there last night," he grumbled, waving at the sporting   
goods shop. "Smashed up all the glass before we got to him."  
"Typical," said Anders, rolling his eyes and leaving him alone, going for his coffee. He bought it   
and carefully carried the cup from the shop, intending to find a bench and watch life go by.  
The security guard was standing by the missing pane, lounging against one of the still intact panes and watching the sporting gods shop. Anders wandered over to him. "You have to stand here all day?"  
"Yeah, the glass guy's not comin' 'til eleven," replied the security guard sulkily.  
The door of the sporting goods shop suddenly crashed open, causing Anders to jump. His hand jerked and half of his coffee spilled on the floor, burning his hand.  
"Shit!" he hissed under his breath, looking at the spot. The security guard hadn't noticed, still watching the store.  
"And another thing!" screamed a voice, startling Anders out of his reverie. A man in his late teens or early twenties had just stomped out of the shop, but the voice came from a woman of the same age stood in the doorway. "You think you can get away with this crap? That you can just come in here – while I'm working – and tell me it's over? You spineless bastard !"  
"You're making a scene!" snapped the guy, glancing over at Anders and the security guard.  
"A scene! I'll show you a goddamn scene!"  
"They do this all the time," said the security guard.   
"She's nuts, but he never learns."  
"I mean it this time," said the guy, but he already looked like he was trembling in the face of her   
wrath.  
"How could you do this to me now? After what happened to me last night? That guy with the bat could have killed me!"  
Last night remembered Anders, going cold. He had been distracted enough to shove it to the back of his mind, but suddenly it was back, filling his thoughts. He barely noticed the continuation of the conversation.  
"I'm sorry," said the guy, sounding nervous. "But I can't do this anymore." He walked away   
from her, toward the security guard and Anders, perhaps thinking he'd be safer with them.  
"You prick!"  
The guy looked back over his shoulder, just as his girlfriend ducked momentarily back inside the shop and came back out with a pack of three Footballs in her hand. She ran away from the shop further to him and threw the Footballs as hard as she could.  
And missed.  
The Footballs flew past him and Anders came out of his reverie just in time to see them flying at his face.   
Startled, he took a step backward, his foot landing in the puddle of spilt coffee. His feet went from under him and he fell backward, the packet of Footballs missing his head by inches.  
His butt hit the floor hard and the momentum knocked his upper torso backward – meeting nothing but thin air where the glass was missing.  
The momentum caused him to slide over the edge, feet kicking in the air, a startled scream emerging from his mouth…  
And suddenly he came to a halt, upside-down, the view below shimmering in his vision – the   
decorative fountain beneath him, the people walking around, a couple of them looking up. Someone had grabbed his sneaker.  
Too bad he hated lacing them tightly.  
The sneaker came off and Anders was falling.  
The security guard hang tightly onto the pane of glass he had been leaning against before the man fell, holding the sneaker and looking at it, dumbly thinking of the story of Cinderella, how Prince Charming had been left with nothing but a shoe to remind him of the girl that had so suddenly left…  
And then a scream from the girl who had thrown the Footballs, immediately followed by several more from below and he forced himself to turn and look, hoping that the man had landed okay, maybe broken an arm or a leg, that he could call the hospital and everything would be alright.  
Looking over the edge, he could see the people who had been nearby turning away, those too far to see the condition of the man running toward the scene. With clinical detachment, he could envision what must have happened. He had plummeted facedown, he decided, straight toward the fountain. His face had hit the fountain itself, disintegrating his features and whipping his body up, snapping his neck. Then he had fallen to one side, probably already dead, landing in the shallow water on her back so that his blooded, ruined features stared up at him. The water cascading from the fountain was already washing away the thick smears on the stonework, the spatter on the sides, the gore that coated what used to be his face.  
Then reality crashed in and he turned away, screaming himself, still clutching the trainer and threw up.

 

Øyvind woke up as the phone rang, rolled over – and fell off the couch with a crash. Groaning to himself, he disregarded the ringing while he took stock of his injuries. A minor case of bruised pride but nothing more.  
The phone rang off before the answer machine could click on and Øyvind rubbed at his eyes, trying to get his bearings. He could hear the shower running – Calle must be up already, he was too tired yesterday to drive home and stayed at Øyvind's place. No surprise that he was up. After what had happened the night before, he would have been amazed if anyone could sleep for long.   
Calle'd spent the night looking too pale and barely speaking and Øyvind hadn't known what to say without putting his foot into it – so he offered Calle his bed and went to sleep on his couch as soon as Calle was set.Better just to keep quiet on the couch while the news of the carnage played all over the television.  
God only knew how Bård felt.  
The TV was still on but the sound muted. He'd tried to lose himself in one of his old DVDs of one of his favourite ever comedy shows, but must have fallen asleep at some point. The DVD had stopped and the screen instead showed the ruins of the stadium, no longer flaming. In the daylight, the whole scene struck him as even more macabre.  
The phone started ringing again.  
Rubbing at his eyes again, Øyvind checked his watch and saw it was almost half past eleven. Evidently they had slept in, but hell, they both deserved it after what they had been through. The sheer enormity of it eluded him. He knew in his head what had happened, but it refused   
to sink in at an emotional level.  
Probably his mother, he thought ruefully. She had known about him going to the game. Hell, she'd probably be on his doorstep as soon as she heard, having driven at about a hundred miles an hour to get to him.  
With a jaw-breaking yawn, he snagged the phone. "'Mamma?"  
"Øyvind?"  
Øyvind frowned. The voice was certainly not his mothers – it was male for a start and vaguely familiar, although he couldn't immediately place it. And he wasn't too tired to notice that whoever it was sounded seriously upset.  
"Yeah?"  
"It's me."  
Robbie, Anders's brother. At least that explained the upset tone. Maybe he had heard about his brother's close call.  
"Hey dude. I know it was a close call last night but everything's okay now. Anders's fine, so don't go getting all emotional on me."  
"Anders's…"   
Robbie broke off, choking on a sob and Øyvind frowned. Close call or not, this was over the top.  
Calle came out of the bathroom, wearing only boxer shorts and a towel around his shoulders. Normally, Øyvind would have given him a fake suggestive leer that would have been returned by a half-serious death threat, but that morning, between his trouble sleeping, the weirdness of the night before and this strange phone call, it didn't occur to him. Calle shot him a smile and raised the volume on the television slightly. The news channel was still on and Øyvind turned away as he saw once again the burned out ruins of the stadium.  
"Dude, chill. It was a pretty bad thing that happened last night – but he's fine now. Don't let it get to you."  
"Coffee?"   
Calle asked quietly, beginning to towel-dry his hair.  
Øyvind nodded, watching as he shot him a grin and wandered over to the kettle.  
"There's been an accident."  
"Huh?"   
Øyvind was jolted back to the conversation, wondering if Robbie had been drinking regardless of the early hour. "Yeah, I know, I was there, remember? But we're all fine, everyone's safe, Anders is safe so don't get over-emotional over it, okay?"  
"No – you don't get it. Not last night. There was an accident… another accident."  
"Accident?" parroted Øyvind, a cold trickle of unease beginning to run down his spine. "What – how do you mean? What's happening?"  
"Anders…" There was another muffled sob on the phone. "He fell. He was at the mall and he fell."  
"Shit!" Øyvind gripped the phone tighter. They still had the show bookings in Bergen to fullfil, what if Anders couldn't perform for the rest of the year? "What, did he break something?"  
"He fell off the second floor onto the fountain Øyvind," shouted Robbie, tearful and yet suddenly furious. "He's dead !"  
Øyvind blinked at the phone, suddenly feeling as though all the strength had run out of his legs. He leant against the wall and slid down it until he was sitting on the floor. "But… but we took him home last night ourselves!"  
Calle was shooting him a curious look, concern etched on his face. Two cups sat on the side, steam emerging from them. On the television, the scenes from the stadium had been replaced by an advertisement for diet yoghurt. The whole scene before him was so normal … and yet the telephone was telling him that things were anything but normal. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, managing to focus them on the conversation that he had largely blanked out of.  
"…Mamma's still in shock," Robbie went on. "And things here are crazy and they want me to go identify… they want…"  
"Hang on," said Øyvind through numb lips. "I'll be there as soon as I   
can."  
He aimed the phone at the table and missed, letting it fall of the side of it. Calle was there in a moment, beginning to look scared.   
"What's up? Is it the Bård?"  
Øyvind shook his head slowly, trying to come to terms with what he'd just heard. "No… it's Anders."

"I'm sorry to tell you like this Vegard. I just thought it was better for you to hear it from me than on the news later on."  
Vegard closed his eyes tightly and then opened them again, sighing before speaking   
into his shell-cell. "I know. Thanks Calle."  
"I just can't believe it, after everything we went through last night – that he lived through all that to be killed in some stupid accident…"  
"Whoa, Calle," said Vegard, trying to be calm. "Just – you two go and do what needs to be done there. I'll tell the others."  
"Thanks," he replied, sounding tearful. "I'll talk to you later."  
"Bye Calle," said Vegard absently, shutting off the mobile and staring at the wall. He knew he would have to tell his brothers and Magnus before this made the news – and such a weird public death suffered by a celebrity would make the news.  
Why did he have to phone and tell me? Why not one of the others?   
The answer was obvious. Because he was the oldest. That meant it was his job to be the bearer of bad news, the one who had to take on the burden. He should have known it was bad news the moment his cell started to ring.  
He had a feeling that all of the others would take the news badly. Probably none of them as badly as Bård. The one thing he had been clinging to during all the weirdness was the knowledge that at least his premonition had saved the lives of his family and friends – and now at least one of the lives he had saved had been snuffed out.  
Someone falling hit Anders…   
Vegard frowned as Bård's words came back to him. He'd been the first to die in his vision and now he really was dead. Maybe it had just been his time.  
Not a comforting thought when Bård had seen them all die.  
Vegard pushed the thought away and steeled himself to break the bad news to his brothers and Magnus.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I kinda forgot to mention earlier that neither Ylvis, Magnus nor the Raske Menn have family in this. This is due to the complicated story, I had trouble keeping track of all the people I killed of in the right direction as it was :)  
> Anyways, same warnings as before, some OC's will be coming up (and die within this chapter of course), enjoy the gore feast :)

Bård stared at Vegard as the news sank in. Anders was dead. Dead in some stupid accident.  
"Dammit!" yelled Magnus angrily, clenching his fists in rage at the news. As if responding to the shout, a prop barbell for a new sketch next season fell from the weight bench and rolled a little way from it before coming to a stop.  
Magnus didn't even notice, but Bård couldn't tear his eyes from it. They hadn't been anywhere near it and it wasn't like any of them to leave it hanging precariously.  
"That is tragical. I am sorry, guys," said Bjarte into the silence in the office. He looked closely at his brothers. "But an accident can hit anyone."  
"He fell into the fountain?" Bård's voice was subdued. There was something nagging at him, something he felt he ought to remember…  
"Yeah," said Vegard quietly "One of those freak accidents, one in a million   
chance of it happening."  
"Poor Anders," said Magnus with a sigh, looking slightly tearful.   
"He was still so young, and after everything that happened last night…Oh god, how must Calle and Øyvind feel..."  
" Two freak accidents," said Bjarte darkly. "Seems like someone up there   
really wanted him out of the way badly."  
"That's ridiculous Bjarte," said Vegard sharply.  
"I'm not being ridiculous! It's like we're cursed or something!"  
"Bjarte, enough!" Vegard raised a hand before any of the friends could respond. "The way these events have occurred so close together is – unfortunate. This does not mean they are related to each other. Or to us."  
"I'm sorry guys," said Bjarte, eyes on the floor. "It's just – I can't believe it. I thought after surviving through last night, everything would be okay."  
"Well, no one is invulnerable, not matter what we went through." Bård'stone was grave and he was obviously weary. He had worked with Anders on a handful of occasions, and he really liked the tall blonde. But he felt the loss for his friends Calle and Øyvind.  
"I'm going home," said Bård abruptly, turning and leaving the others behind.  
The other three watched him go, then Vegard sighed. "I'll go after him."  
In the end Magnus, Bjarte and Vegard decided to all camp out at Bård's place, to not leave their brother and friend alone.  
When they arrived, Vegard went on looking for him while Bjarte and Magnus prepared their beds in the living room. Vegard found Bård lying across his bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Bård…"  
"Why didn't I know?"  
Vegard sat on the bed beside Bård. "Why would you?"  
"I knew what was gonna happen last night. So why didn't I know about Anders?"  
"Last night…" Vegard hesitated for a moment. "Last night must have been a one-time deal. There's no reason why you'd be able to foresee every time someone dies. That'd make you a god or something. And you'd go crazy trying to save the world."  
"I feel like I'm going crazy already," replied Bård with a humourless laugh. "I had a feeling ever since I woke up – a really bad feeling. I managed to shake it off after a while, but now it's back   
again. Something bad is happening Vegard. I know it is."  
"Bård, after seeing the accident before it happened, it would be strange if you didn't have a bad feeling. And Anders… what happened to him might make it seem like the feeling was justified. But it's not. It was just – bad timing. Nothing else is gonna happen."  
"I thought I was the psychic around here," muttered Bård, startling the ghost of a smile from Vegard. "But I don't know… I'm scared."  
"I know Bård," said Vegard, resting a hand on his brother's shoulder for a moment "But there's no reason to think that anything else will happen. What happened to Anders… it's horrible. But it doesn't mean that anything else will happen."  
Bård shrugged, not looking reassured. "How's Calle taking the news?"  
"Not well, according to Øyvind," replied Vegard sombrely. "Y'know, he always treated Anders like a brother, always looking out for him and having inside jokes and so on. I guess he feels like he's failed."  
Makes two of us, thought Bård.  
Vegard stood. "I'll leave you in peace, if that's what you want. But it might be better if you didn't stay alone for too long. We need to get through this together. We'll stay overnight, okay? Maybe order Pizza or something."  
"Right."   
Bård continued to stare at the ceiling as Vegard departed the room, wishing he could get rid of the sense of unease that had overtaken him yet again. And memories of Anders kept intruding – his funny expression when they saw him perform, the silly grimaces he put on when bantering with Calle and Øyvind, his beautiful voice…  
Enough of this. I gotta take my mind off things.   
Climbing off his bed, Bård grabbed a handful of music magazines, thinking they might be just the thing to distract him from thinking about Anders, as well as other issues that were less tangible.  
Ten minutes later, he realised that the first music magazine was still open at the first page, not a word of it read. Sighing, he stood up and put them away again, turning on the radio in the hope of hearing something on the news about the incident. It should be on around now, he reasoned.  
"… call my name and safe me from the dark…"   
He spun the dial, finding another channel where the news had apparently been on for a couple of minutes. He'd missed most of the main story by the sound – the stadium incident of course. Much as he didn't want to hear it, he wanted to know if there was anything else they could tell him about how Anders came to die in such a bizarre way.  
"...in other news, famous comedian Anders Hoff, known for his role in the comedy group Raske Menn, fell to his death this morning in a local mall. Authorities are withholding the case until further details emerge, but it seems that he fell due to a missing safety barrier. Mall owners had no comment to make at this time. Anders Hoff was only thirty-…"  
Bård snapped the radio off again, cutting the announcer off mid-sentence, the unease suddenly escalating to gut-knotting terror. He was driven from his room by a desperate need to make sure his family were all right – and to ensure they stayed that way.  
As Vegard left Bård behind in his room, he took stock of what was going on in the rest of the flat. Bjarte was distracting himself with Bård's PlayStation and Vegard could see that it wasn't going to last much longer. His brother was obviously trying to transfer some of the feelings he felt onto the game, rage that no doubt would soon turn to sorrow. He would speak to his brothers if he had to – but more likely he would online, worried as always over public displays of his perceived weakness. Best to leave him alone until that happened.  
Magnus was scanning through some books that lay on Bård's desk. Vegard could tell from his fixed stare that he wasn't really seeing them; they were just there to give him something to do. Of all of them, Magnus' reactions were hardest to gauge. Sometimes he got agitated; sometimes   
he went quiet and withdrew from everyone. Withdrawal was worse and it looked like that was the way he was going this time.  
On impulse, Vegard went over to him and cleared his throat loudly to tell   
Magnus he was there. "What are you reading?"  
"Oh, this?" Magnus held up the book he was momentarily pretending to read, sounding tired. "Just something I found here on the table…" He let the sentence trail off. "It's a book about urban legends and human disasters. Isn't it morbid that Bård just happens to have this book?   
Did you know that the amount of visions rises dramatically in cases where the planes later crash?"  
"You mean a premonition like Bård's isn't unusual?"  
"There's not much on actual premonitions that I've read yet, just statistics about the people that decide not to board that plane or that train for whatever reason. I was just wondering if I could find any information on how many tickets were sold for last nights game that weren't used."  
"It'd be interesting to know."  
Without warning, Magnus threw the book across the desk, where it fell to the floor. "Not that it's going to make any difference to Anders now."  
"I know Magnus. But what happened to Anders was an accident. Something like that   
could happen to anyone at any time."  
"So why did Bård see what was going to happen at the stadium but not what would happen to him?"  
Vegard frowned. "Don't say that around Bård. He's already asking himself the same question."  
"I wouldn't. I mean, I know it's not his fault. But – I just don't see why things have to go like this. It's just so – stupid. Falling from the second floor of the mall? What a pointless way to die!"  
"I know" said Vegard, resting a hand on his younger friend's shoulder and noting the unshed tears in his eyes. "Its not fair."  
" Life's not fair Vegard, or hadn't you noticed?" Bjarte had left the PlayStation behind and wandered over to them. "Screw this. I'm going out."  
Bård chose that moment to bolt out of his room, wide eyed. Spying his brothers, he ran over to them hurriedly.  
"Is everything okay Bård?" asked Vegard, noticing how frightened the youngest looked.  
"I…" Bård swallowed hard. "I've got a really bad feeling…"  
"Oh for crying out loud!" Bjarte shook his head, the confusion he felt just adding to his irrational anger. "That's it. I'm going out to get wasted."  
" NO!"   
The other three looked on startled as Bård grabbed his arm, using all his strength to keep Bjarte in place. "You can't go! You just can't!"  
"Bård, I don't know what's gotten into you, but if you don't let go of my arm, I'll…"  
"Please Bjarte." Bård's voice was low but intense, his eyes staring straight into his little brother's. "Please. Don't go."  
Bjarte looked back into Bård's eyes, his anger dissolving in the face of his brother's genuine fear. Suddenly he felt very tired and miserable.  
"Fine," he said, pulling away from Bård. "I'll be in your room, going online."  
As Bjarte strode off towards his room, Bård stared after him until Vegard grabbed his upper arm and pulled him around.  
"Bård… what's going on?"  
Bård shook his head wearily. "I don't know Vegard. I honestly don't know."

Øyvind sighed as he strapped the helmet to his head, turning to check on Calle. He had his own helmet tucked under one arm, his free hand rubbing at his temples tiredly. With one thing and another, it had been a long couple of days. The stadium disaster, Bård's premonition and now Anders dying. Shock upon shock; it was beginning to get to both of them.  
The scene at Anders's had been depressing, tempered by the traditional awkwardness of no one knowing what to say. The usual platitudes were brought out by a steady stream of well-wishers, friends of his family bringing over food in what Øyvind observed as being some weird ritual – he remembered the same thing happening after his grandfather had died, as if the family would be too absorbed to worry about something as mundane as cooking. Robbie's friends had come over too, most of them offering stilted condolences and giving him self-conscious, one-armed hugs. One woman from their High school times had come over, more an acquaintance than a close friend, and sobbed and wailed so theatrically that Øyvind was sorely tempted to throw the silly bitch out on her ass.  
Without Calle, he couldn't have handled all the things he had gone over to do. It was Calle who took the food from the well-wishers, making cups of hot, sweet tea for both Anders' Grandmother and his brother as they sat in a state of shock, responding to condolences as if drugged. Calle had managed to calm the hysterical woman down, a few sharp words and careful phrases breaking through the self-pity. And Calle who had reminded Øyvind gently about the people they had to call regarding the funeral, although Øyvind had made those calls himself.  
Eventually though, things seemed to have settled down. Anders' Grandmother had been ushered to bed and was sleeping uneasily. Robbie had the support of several of his friends, who were in their own ways trying to help. Anders' body had been scheduled for release to the funeral parlour the next day, when no doubt the machinery of death would begin again. More calls to make, people to tell, flowers to arrange, headstone, service.  
Suddenly wearied by the whole thing, Øyvind put an arm around Calle's shoulder. It wasn't what they had spent the day doing – it was the thought of the whole thing starting again tomorrow, that still more bureaucracy, also about their shows, had to be met before they could let the poor man rest in peace.  
After all, he thought bitterly. Who the fuck makes arrangements on the chance of a perfectly healthy thirty-something year old man dying?   
He raised the visor on his helmet and spoke quietly to Calle. "Thanks for helping today."  
"It's okay Øyvind," said Calle, his free arm going around his back. "At least we were able to help."  
"For all the good it does," replied Øyvind, some of the helpless anger he felt showing in his voice. "We shouldn't have to be arranging any of this at all – it shouldn't have happened…" He deflated, conceding that no amount of anger was going to change anything. "I wish there was something we could do or say or something to make things better."  
Calle nodded, Øyvind feeling the movement rather than seeing it. They both took their helmets on and tightened the straps. Øyvind watched as Calle put on his helmet, Anders's accident was making him hyper-aware of all the things that could happen and until the feeling wore off, he had the feeling he'd be making damn sure that Calle was taking all the precautions he could.  
Øyvind pulled on his thick leather gloves and got the bike started while Calle did the same and climbed on behind him. Øyvind took off at a much slower speed than usual, far more cautiously than normally. He just wanted to get Calle to the Ylvisåkers and safe, then spend some time forgetting the last few crazy days.  
Calle wrapped his arms around him and in spite of the events that played on his mind; he began to feel almost optimistic. Maybe it was foolish, but in the middle of all the death that had surrounded them lately, he was starting to really appreciate the good things that were in his life.  
They rode on for a while, heading for Bård's flat. Øyvind loosened up enough to weave around the traffic in his way, beginning to relax. It had been a long, horrible day but at least it was over.   
Calle's arms tightened around his waist and he smiled to himself as the bike rode onto the bridge. Or perhaps he would let all that go for tonight and just enjoy the company of his friends, show them just how much he appreciated them. They'd been a tower of strength to him. He didn't know if it was the close calls of the last few days or their actions, or the realisation of how people could be taken away at any time, but he felt even more strongly that if friendship really did exist, then it was probably the term that applied to how he felt about the guys, and especially Calle.  
Behind him there was a noise, metal grinding against metal.  
Glancing over his shoulder, Øyvind saw Calle doing likewise and beyond him, a car that had been shunted to one side by a truck. The truck was the flat-bed type, carrying recently chopped trees into the city, presumably for use in a furniture factory or similar. With clinical detachment, time seemed to slow for Øyvind and perception sharpened, so he could see the panicked face of the driver in the cab, face frozen in a grimace. The truck continued to advance and he realised that the driver couldn't stop. The brakes had somehow failed.  
And then the sound of a horn filled the air and time sped up again.  
Øyvind turned his head back to the road ahead of him, realising that how close the truck was didn't matter – if he wiped them out by hitting the car in front, there was no chance at all. The cars ahead of him suddenly accelerated, some trying evasive driving although the truck was not as yet near them. There was another crunch of tortured metal as one panicked driver failed to realise that no matter how fast he went, he could go only as far as the car in front. Immediately, cars began to pile up against the wreck, some skidding to avoid colliding, blocking the road.  
"Shit!"  
Calle heard Øyvind's exclamation as he stared over his shoulder. The truck was gaining, the driver leaning on the horn, the sound seeming to fill the whole world, warning them of the impossibility of the truck stopping before it reached them.  
Why THIS after all that's happened? Why do we never get a break?   
And then the driver of the truck leaned out of sight and the trucks tyres locked, sending up smoke as the tyres gripped the concrete. The driver had hit the handbrake.  
The truck span wildly out of control, heading for the side of the bridge. There was a thick barricade between it and the water, but Calle could see it wouldn't hold at the speed the truck was going.  
The bike came to a stop as the road ahead became too congested for Øyvind to make any headway. It wasn't going to matter, Calle saw. The truck would hit the barricade some distance before it reached them. They were going to be alright.  
He could hear Øyvind's frantic cursing as he tried to find a way through the gridlock, but the sight of the driver opening the cab door and hurling himself out as the truck headed for the side distracted Calle. The truck hit and the barricade gave way in a scream of tortured metal. For a moment it hung, suspended over the water, the sharp spokes from the suspension bridge holding it – and then the weight proved too much and the metal bent. The chains that held the wood onto the cab of the truck snapped, sending logs plummeting into the river below. One end of the chain was propelled into the air by the force of the snap, miraculously not landing on anyone or a car, instead hitting the concrete mere feet in front of the bike.  
And then the truck fell, it looked almost comically to Calle.  
Øyvind turned to look at him and he grinned back, giving the universal thumbs up sign. It had been close, but they were alive and it seemed as if no one had been killed, which was a blessing in itself…  
The chain that was still attached to the truck whipped up, bouncing from the road and hitting the first thing that got in its path.  
Calle.  
The end of the chain snagged the wrist of the hand he was giving the thumbs up with, yanking him clean off the bike and pulling him toward the edge. He was momentarily stunned, then tried to get his grip on the concrete, hearing Øyvind scream his name.  
And then he was over the edge and plummeting toward the river.  
There were long seconds of free fall, the rushing wind curiously muted by his helmet. He had time to wonder if hitting the water would hurt, how the hell he was supposed to keep himself afloat in the river long enough to swim to the edge or the nearest rescue boat.  
He had been right about one thing. Hitting the water hurt almost as much as hitting concrete. For a moment, the chain snagged painfully tight around his wrist and he managed to force the loose end around his wrist and free himself from the truck that was sinking almost lazily to the bottom.  
It had all happened so fast that it took Calle a couple of seconds to realise two curious facts. His eyes were open and he could see that he was underwater, probably quite deep judging by the height he had fallen from, but he could still breathe. The second was that he could feel water on his lips. And it seemed to be rising.  
Crap, the helmet!   
He thrashed in the water, trying to rise to the surface, at the same time clawing at the straps to release the heavy weight that was supposed to protect him. No good. He still wore the thick gloves on his hands, making his fingers unable to manipulate the strap. And the helmet was pulling him down, slowly filling up with water.  
He made one last ditch attempt to get the helmet off, willing to dislocate his jaw, lose his teeth, anything…  
No good. The water seeped into his helmet, covering his nose, stealing the last of the air within the confines of the helmet.  
The last thing he saw was the water going dark.

The doorbell went off at three in the morning.  
Usually his brothers and colleagues could come and go freely, knowing where the extra key was. But at night, when none of them should be coming, the sound of the doorbell was a bad thing.  
Vegard was the first out of his room, Magnus a split-second later, both on guard, ready for whoever entered. Bård was next, unusually for him since he normally took the longest time to wake up, but his sleep had been thin and disturbed anyway. He was finally followed by Bjarte. All four were prepared for an attack of a crazy fan or something similar.  
And then the door to the flat opened and Øyvind walked in.  
Bjarte relaxed, giving out a snort. "Man Øyvind, give us a freaking heart attack, why dont'cha? What the hell are you doing here at this time anyway?"  
Øyvind ignored him completely, stalking up to Bård instead and staring at him. Bård's reflexive smile wilted in the face of that scrutiny. It was so – intense. Almost as if Øyvind was looking for a particular reaction. And something else. Fury, rage – hate?  
"Øyvind?"  
He looks ready to hit me thought Bård nervously. But this is Øyvind. If something's happened, he'll never take it out on me. No matter what he looks like, he'd never try to hit me...   
BAM!!!  
Bård had convinced himself so well that Øyvind wouldn't hit him that when the man swung his fist, he was taken totally unaware. The fist connected with his nose, knocking him backward. And Øyvind hadn't been holding back. Bård hit the floor on his back and grabbed for his nose, wondering if Vegard knew how to set the damn thing, half-convinced it was broken.  
Øyvind took a step forward, fist still raised – and then Bjarte had one of his arms, Vegard the other, while Magnus knelt next to Bård and checked out his injuries.  
"Øyvind!" yelled Vegard, struggling to hold Øyvind. "What the hell's gotten into you?"  
"Knock it off Øyvind," warned Bjarte, trying to drag Øyvind back.  
Still Øyvind didn't seem to register them, his eyes on Bård. Bård met his eyes, nursing his injured face, his heart dropping. Something had gone wrong. Just as he had said to his brothers earlier. And Øyvind knew it was all Bård's fault.  
"You didn't see that coming did ya?" Øyvind sounded like he might be trying to laugh, but was choking on the words. "Saw the balloon but ya never saw that!"  
"Øyvind!"   
Vegard stepped forward between Bård and Øyvind, glaring at the taller man. "I do not know what is happening, but you will not attack my brother again! Is this clear?"  
The words seemed to get through to Øyvind in a way that the rest had been unable to do. The man turned his gaze slowly on the black haired.  
"He's the psychic!" snarled Øyvind in a low voice. "He knew all about the balloon – why didn't he know about this? Why?"  
"Øyvind..." Vegard stared at Øyvind, not letting his gaze drop. "Where is Calle?"  
At the mention of Calle's name, Øyvind seemed to sag, letting Vegard and Bjarte finally pull him away. Neither of them let him go as they took him over to the couch, pushing him into a seated position before they let him go, still on their guards.  
"You okay Bård?" asked Vegard, not taking his eyes off Øyvind.  
"I'll be fine," said Bård in a subdued tone, getting to his feet.  
"How is he?" Vegard directed the question at Magnus.  
"I think he'll be alright. There's gonna be a bruise." Magnus stormed over to Øyvind and glared at their friend. "What the hell were you thinking Øyvind? What's going on?"  
"Calle's dead."  
The friends blinked at the words, unable to process the words. Bjarte was the first to break the silence. "Say what?"  
"Calle's dead!" Øyvind looked around wildly, his gaze settling on Bård, standing aside from the others. "And Bård should have known what would happen! He knew before! Why didn't he know about this?!"   
There were five seconds of silence, during which Øyvind slumped back in the couch and covered his eyes. Then Magnus let out an anguished wail and fled.  
"Magnus!" Vegard took two steps after his friend, looked back at the seat where Øyvind still didn't move, to Bjarte who seemed frozen, to Bård who hadn't moved at all – and he wondered what the hell was happening to them.  
Stunned, Bjarte walked over to Bård, grabbed him by the upper arm and yanked him along in his wake, leading them to Bård's room.  
Bård was still in shock when Bjarte suddenly collapsed on his bed and started hitting the cover, unaware that tears were leaking down his cheeks.  
"Bjarte!"   
Dimly, he was aware of someone grabbing his arm. He spun around, fist raised – and registered Bård soon enough for the punch to be averted, instead bringing the fist down and hitting his own leg hard enough for it to go instantly numb.  
"We don't know for sure that anything happened!" Bård was rambling, trying to comfort himself as much as his little brother – but even in his pain, Bjarte knew enough to believe differently. "We need to – well, we need to speak to Øyvind. He was acting pretty weird. Maybe…"  
Bjarte took a deep breath, trying to regain his centre. And then he recalled his brother's reaction to him going out earlier, the panic, the fear. He looked at Bård through narrowed eyes. "Bård – what did you see before, when you asked me not to go out? What did you see?"  
Bård recoiled. "Nothing! I had a bad feeling, I didn't know anything – we still don't know anything! Øyvind might be…"  
Bård trailed off and Bjarte sneered. "What, mistaken?"  
"We should find out what happened." Bård spoke as if he was hanging on to sanity by the merest thread and Bjarte, angry and as in pain as he was, hated to see him like that. Something bad was going down, he was going to deal with it.  
But if Calle really is dead...   
One way or the other, they had to know what was happening.  
"C'mon," he said gruffly to Bård, walking out of the room, dealing with his damp eyes with the arm of his sweatshirt. Deep inside, he knew Øyvind had spoken the truth – but it seemed so unreal. Calle was one of them, he had been in school with Vegard and he was one of their closest friends. He was always smiling, always funny, and always healthy. He was suppossed to maybe outlive them all.  
In the main area of the lair, Øyvind seemed to have got himself under some kind of control. The man glanced up as they arrived, but made no sign that he would attack again, merely rubbing at his already red-rimmed eyes. And now that Bjarte thought about it, Øyvind looked like hell.  
A couple of moments later, a noise from the kitchen drew their attention. Magnus emerged, Vegard with him. Vegard had his arm around his younger friend's shoulders and Magnus looked to be shell-shocked.  
Bård regarded them all worriedly, but still denying the fact he knew of deep inside. "I think Øyvind is ready to tell us why he is here."  
Øyvind glanced up at them, not seeming to care about the tears that spilled down his cheeks. "Guys, I'm sorry. Bård – I didn't mean it. I shouldn't have – I'm sorry."  
"Calle," said Magnus, before Bård could reply. "What did you say about Calle?"  
Øyvind lowered his gaze. "There was a big accident on the bridge – we were coming home from Anders'. We thought we were out of it, but then Calle got dragged into the river by a truck…"  
"Have they…" Vegard swallowed, unable to believe he was about to say it. "Have they – recovered a body? Do they know for sure he's…dead?"  
"Vegard, I was there." Øyvind turned his view to Vegard, anger in his eyes. "He went under. He never came up again. We were there for hours. They're trying again when it gets lighter…"  
"But – there's still a chance?" Magnus' voice was filled with the hopefulness of self-delusion and Bård closed his eyes. He might be the most optimistic of all of them at the moment, but he had no illusions about the chances of Calle's survival any more.  
He had known something bad would happen.

Bjarte went back with Øyvind, taking him back to his mother's apartment instead of to the one he lived in and had worked in with Calle and Anders. Too full of memories of Raske Menn.  
Vegard retired, although Bård doubted he was sleeping. Calle had been his oldest friend, and Vegard's eyes were red from crying. Yeah, keeping on crying seemed most likely, although Vegard hid his head under a blanket. And Magnus had gone to Bård's room, the lights in there still burned. Normally, Bård would have gone in, turned off the light, expecting his friend to have fallen asleep over a smartphone or something. But tonight, he suspected Magnus wanted to be alone.  
Calle.   
Bård thought back to some of the times they had shared. His first jealousy of his and Vegard's friendship, that emotion giving way to a friendship and love more suited to siblings. The way he had helped him find his way into show business. The times he had let them stay at his apartment when they were to drunk to go home. The way he had put his own career behind to help them. The way he had always just – been there for him, for all of them, as a friend.  
All that, gone.  
And a part of Bård hated himself. He had known that something bad was happening, but not the specifics. He should have guessed somehow that this would happen.  
It's as if we're being punished for just surviving... And then Bård sat bolt upright, the remote control falling from his hand. He jumped up and snagged some book from beside his work station, thinking back to his premonition. He had been trying to shove it out of his mind, but if what he suspected was correct…  
He scanned through the index of the book, finding the urban legend he was looking for. He started writing:   
Anders.  
Calle.  
The man and the blond woman.  
Eivind Sæther.  
Øyvind.  
Vegard.  
Maria Mena.  
Bjarte.  
Magnus.  
Me.  
Bård leant back in his seat and tapped his teeth with the pen. Of course, he had seen other people in his vision, but those were the only ones that he knew – and there was no reason to believe that Eivind Sæther and Maria Mena had escaped.  
Except that no one had mentioned Maria's death on the news and the three businessmen who had been sat near her and killed had been mentioned by name.  
Chewing on the biro, trying hard to keep his thoughts away from Calle, a thought occurred to Bård. If someone had escaped the stadium disaster only to be killed soon after, it would be in the news. Anders had not only been named simply because he was famous. There was something niggling the back of his mind, some instinct that told him he was thinking in the right way…  
Going over to his computer, he fired it up and logged onto the internet, finding a news site that was local to Oslo and checking out some of the stories.  
The balloon crash still dominated and for the first time, there was something else – a survivor telling the reporter about a guy from the VIP section freaking out just moments before and screaming about a crash. Bård felt a trickle of unease. Bård was sure that the only reason why his freak out had not been mentioned yet was that the news about the disaster was bigger to the press.  
But if anyone suspected that the 'VIP guy' was in fact him, they could all be screwed.  
Although not as screwed as if they'd been killed.  
He put glanced through the other stories. Nothing suspicious. But two deaths were enough to send his own instincts into overdrive. One, sure. But two?  
Hard as it was to believe, those who had escaped the stadium were dying. One by one this time, in seemingly unavoidable accidents. And, if he were to believe what he had seen in his vision, in the order they would have died had they not left the stadium.  
But – that was crazy. Death was a natural process, like – well, like farting or something. Death was not a skeleton with a scythe that got pissed when you cheated him.  
And yet, they were dying.  
"What are you doing?"  
Bård turned as he heard the voice behind him. Magnus, out of the other room, looking weepy.  
"Just checking something on the net."  
Magnus walked over to the computer and grabbed the spare chair nearby, pulling it closer and sitting down. Bård looked over at his friend and looked back at the computer quickly. Magnus still looked devastated.  
Silence reigned for a few minutes and then Magnus sighed. "I just can't believe it."  
"Me neither." Bård stared at the screen, concentrating more on his reflection on the monitor than the words.  
"I always thought…" Magnus stopped, cleared his throat. "I always thought – when I did think about it – that Calle would keep going, he'd survive until old age. He'd get older, have some more kids and we'd be the guys he knew when he was young, that we were friends and work together – And now…"  
"Magnus..." Bård gave in, turning to his friend and giving him a brief but fierce hug. "Calle did what he wanted. He loved us, we loved him. We still love her. I thought along those lines too, but – dying isn't something you control, unless it's suicide. There's no way we could have known…"  
Bård trailed off and Magnus regarded him through red eyes. "Bård? What are you hiding?"  
Bård sighed, deciding that this might not be the best time to run his idea past one of his friends or brothers. Not when it seemed crazy, even to himself.  
"Nothing. I'm not hiding anything. I'm just – I'm not really up to dealing with this after everything."  
"Who is?" Magnus leaned past Bård and started clicking the mouse, taking no notice of the news story Bård had been looking at. "I was gonna work on dinner, try to take my mind off things. Do you want something special, or can I google for recipes…?"  
"Sure." Bård stood and let Magnus take the computer seat. For a moment he hesitated. Magnus seemed so bleak and he wanted to say something. If he could tell him that there was a plan, that he had worked out some kind of pattern, then maybe – shit, who was he kidding? Even he had suspected he had gone nuts.  
Holly Jameson turned on the television as she dressed, saw the redhead chick on the news and decided enough was enough. She had to get out of this crazy country, before it succeeded in killing her.  
She'd been in Oslo only three months, moving there to be with her fiancé Tom, who had lived there his whole life save for a short period in the US during which time the two had met. Given the choice between living in small-town Virginia or the adventure of the big city in another country, she had jumped at the chance of the adventure and now she was beginning to regret it.  
It all started at the football game. She hated football and couldn't see the point of it, but Tommy loved it and had scored tickets to the big charity game. She had been in a foul mood even before the game after a bad day at work, all she wanted to do was stay home maybe relax in a bath with a glass of wine. Instead, she had to go and stand bored witless for three hours watching some insane sport she didn't understand at all. Saturday afternoon in the terraces it wasn't.  
Tommy had picked up on her bad mood and been angered by it. They sniped at each other all the way to the stadium, getting really bitchy as they waited for it to start. In the end, she had been about to start yelling when someone had beat her to it, a man she couldn't see well yelling about the balloon. That had been enough for her and all the distraction she needed to storm out of the stadium, Tommy following a few moments behind her, still berating her.  
She had turned on her heel once outside the stadium, furious still but with a trickle of unease. Something about the shouting man had really unnerved her. There was a fair share of crazies in America too, but this one had got to her in a way others hadn't. Maybe it was because she was looking for an excuse to leave.  
She had opened her mouth to scream abuse at Tommy, let him know just what an inconsiderate pig he was for dragging her out when she was tired to do something she hated and then yelling at her about it – and then the words had dried in her throat as she saw the realised the balloon  
was falling into the stands.  
Her life since then had seemed surreal and weird.  
Tommy seemed to take it all in his stride, calling their escape miraculous and seeming to forget the reasons they had left, although he was suddenly far more attentive of her needs, taking the attitude that he had been given a second chance of life and he was going to get everything out of it that he could. But she was freaked out by the whole incident. The man had been screaming about the balloon and he had been right.  
And then Holly had started seeing things on the news that brought it all back.  
First thing; a celebrity who had been in a falling accident. Not a big deal, save for it had been a VIP – until someone mentioned the rumour that he had survived the stadium disaster. Second: A celebrity who worked in the same comedy group, dead in a freakish accident.   
Tommy had laughed it off, pointing out that in the first case, it was nothing but rumour and in the second, there was nothing even remotely linked to the crash that could have caused their  
deaths.  
But now…  
Bullshit, she thought wildly, hitting the off button on the remote and then throwing the device at the TV, running into the bedroom where Tommy was still dressing and grabbing her suitcase from the top of the wardrobe. Tommy regarded her startled as she pulled open the drawers and began stuffing clothes into the case with no care or attention to folding them neatly away.  
"Elskling, what in the heck are you doing?"  
"I'm leaving," she replied, dragging a hand through her hair and wishing she hadn't quit smoking. "I'm getting out of this country before it kills me."  
"Huh?"  
"There was another one on the news. Another one. Someone else who was at the stadium that night just died!"  
"Did they say that on the news?"  
"They didn't have to, I saw him when we were there!"  
Tommy blinked at her as she tore through the room like a hurricane, shoving as much as she could into the large case.   
"Holly…it's just a coincidence."   
"Coincidence my arse!" snapped Holly, digging her passport out of the drawer along with her credit card and stash of emergency money. "The hell with the rest of it. I just need away from here now. If you're smart, you'll come with me."  
"Are you crazy? I can't just take time off work because you have a hunch!"  
"It's not a hunch! We're all dying, one by one! Somebody's trying to off everyone who lived through the stadium and make it look like accidents!"  
"Holly, elskling..."  
" Don't call me elskling! I hate it!"  
"Fine then!" Tommy lost his temper with her. "You want to run away and leave me over some coincidence ?"  
"I don't want to leave you – but I'm not gonna die for you either."  
Holly slammed the suitcase closed and picked it up, carrying it into the living room with Tommy trailing after her.  
"Where will you go?"  
"Home."  
"Where will you stay?"  
"With Donna or Nikki."  
Tommy laughed derisively. "Your sisters? You three get on like cats in a sack.  
Holly-Ann grabbed her jacket. "It doesn't matter. Better fighting there than dying here."  
She grabbed her handbag, shoved her money, cards and passport into it and snatching her suitcase again, left the apartment.  
Seriously concerned now, Tommy stared after her for a few moments then decided to follow. He missed the elevator by mere seconds as Holly went down, presumably to hail a cab and get to the airport. In an agony of indecision, Tommy checked his watch and took off down the stairs,  
catching Holly just as she walked out of the building.  
"You're being ridiculous!" he said loudly.  
Holly stormed off down the pavement, suitcase held so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. "Whatever. I'm getting away from here."  
Tommy sighed noisily, still keeping pace with her. "Babe – why don't we call it a holiday? Give it a while and when you feel safer, when you calm down, you can come home again?"  
Holly slowed her pace down. "I – I guess that could work. But I won't come back here until whoever's killing the survivors is caught."  
Biting his tongue, Tommy nodded instead of telling her she was being paranoid and stupid. "Okay babe, anything to make you feel safe."  
Holly felt a rush of love for her fiancé. He could be hideously insensitive and blind, but he really did care about her. She turned to face him, taking in his face since it might be a while before she  
saw it again. Like some kind of sign, a horse-drawn carriage appeared on the street in the distance, adorned in bridal ribbons and drawn by two white horses.  
"I – I'm sorry Tommy," she said quietly. "I'm just scared by all this."  
"It's alright elskling," he replied and for once, she didn't feel like strangling him for the endearment.  
"The hell with it," she said smiling, throwing the suitcase aside. "I'm staying…"  
"Whoa!"  
The suitcase had flown onto the kerb, into the path of a cyclist. He swerved, directly into the path of a cab, which also swerved, cutting dangerously close to the horse-drawn carriage, the driver laying on the horn furiously.  
One of the horses reared, but was trapped by the harness, succeeding only inkicking the other horse. Both fought the control of the reins and then bolted, knocking the carriage driver from his perch as the carriage swung alarmingly, staying upright through what appeared to be a miracle, loud screams coming from the bride within.  
The carriage bore directly down on Tommy and Holly.  
Tommy grabbed Holly by the arms and shoved her away, hard. Before she could even lose her feet, the horses thundered among the pedestrians, people diving away left and right. Tommy was knocked to the ground, trampled beneath their hooves – and then they were off him. The  
carriage chose that moment to topple to its side, snagging his jacket on one of the gilded handles and dragging him along the road face-first.  
Holly landed on the floor and started screaming as the horses missed her – but she was treated to the sight of her fiancé being pulled beneath the carriage, leaving a trail of gore and skin as it careened away.  
Behind her, a man walking his Pit Bull Terrier released its lead and leapt away from the carriage. The dog tried to run, but was dealt several glancing blows by the horses, a vicious blow by a hoof snapping clean through the fastening on its muzzle, another stamping on its leash and almost strangling it. In the noise and confusion and pain, the dog panicked, howling and shaking loose of its muzzle.  
Fight or flight. The instinct of all animals in peril. It chose flight, escaping from the madness of the horses and carriage and running down the pavement away from the destruction. It didn't get far. There was something in his way, something that in its terror it didn't recognise as a person, lying in its path and making as much noise as the horses had.  
Panicked, the Pit Bull went straight for Holly's throat.

Saddened, Bård headed to his room. Magnus had made an amazing dinner, but no one was really able to enjoy it. Bård couldn't get his theory out of his head. There had to be something else he could do. There had to be.  
When he got into his room, he inadvertently bumped into his table, only one thing falling from it - his badge, which he had found one night while filming a sketch, purely by chance and kept ever since. It looked like a bottle cap, but had flashing lights in it. Shaped just like a Carlsberg cap.  
"Carls-berg," he sang, imitating an old advert, before throwing the badge onto a nearby shelf and crawling into bed.

"What kinda beer would ya like?" asked the barmaid with a big smile. She'd been working bar long enough to spot the happy drunks, the ones out to have fun and spend their money – hopefully by leaving the woman a large tip with every round. "We got Warsteiner, Carlsberg, Heineken…"  
"Uck, not Heineken," replied one of the men with a grimace. "Two Carlsberg, darling!"  
The barmaid managed to avoid rolling her eyes at the compliment she heard at least five times every shift and grabbed the pair their beers, quoting the price and managing a genuine smile as she was urged to keep the change from the note she was handed.  
Eivind leaned against the bar and tilted his drink, clinking it off his colleague's bottle and drinking deep. As a rule, they didn't drink – Journalists didn't want anything dulling their senses, and his wife Maria didn't like him drunk. But she had given him some time to unwind after the scene at the Stadium and after the carnage they had almost been a part of, it seemed appropriate to celebrate.  
"Hell of a thing, huh?" Jonas indicated to a discarded newspaper at the end of the bar, the Stadium disaster the main story. "If that Ylvisåker guy hadn't flipped out, we might have been underneath all that. We should bring that story later this week, by the way, when it seems appropriate."  
"Don't remind me," said Eivind. "Protests, even wars, all the stuff we usually cover, I can imagine going out that way. But with a bunch of citizens in some accident? And Maria was there too. If she hadn't decided to follow Bård out of the Stadium…"  
Jonas nodded solemnly. "Another thing to owe her for."  
They were quiet for a moment, contemplating their beers, then Jonas glanced at his near-empty bottle. "Another?"  
"Sure," replied Eivind amicably. "Better make this the last one though. Maria gave me some time off, but I don't think she'd be pleased if we I came home wasted."  
"True, but you really listen too much to her." Jonas laughed, caught the barmaid's eye and gave her a big grin, indicating for two more drinks. "Hey, she's really into me."  
Eivind rolled his eyes. " Jeez, I can't take you anywhere!"  
"So what would you suggest?" Jonas smirked as he handed the barmaid some cash and winked at her. "Stay at the office all day and spend our spare time…"  
"Don't say it Jonas."  
"…Knitting?"  
Eivind gave a rueful smile, used to the teasing by now. "Hey, it's a useful ability. And do you know how many ways I can kill a man with a knitting needle?" He looked up at the ceiling, doing some calculations. "Twenty-three. Without resorting to the old stabbing them through the eyes trick."  
Jonas waved away the barmaid who had brought him his change, indicating at her to keep it. He was about to answer, when a new voice intruded.  
"Knittin'?"  
The pair turned and looked at the guy in front of them. Holding a bottle of Budweiser that obviously wasn't his first, he squinted at them through a haze of beer. A big-built man, obviously thought of himself as a tough guy.  
"That's cute son," he said, breathing stale beer into Eivind's face. "That's real cute."  
"I know," replied Eivind pleasantly, totally unfazed. One drunk didn't give him much cause for concern, his ego boosted by the alcohol he was not used to.  
The drunk smirked and for a moment, it looked like he might start something – then he backed off, something in the way the smaller man looked at him cutting through the alcohol-induced machismo and telling him it might not be the wisest move to pick a fight right then.  
"Shame," said Eivind, looking after him. "I wouldn't have minded a little batter."  
"I'm supposed to bring you back home safely," replied Jonas, finishing his bottle.  
"Eivind finished his own beer and stifled a belch. "I gotta piss like a racehorse."  
"Me too," said Jonas, spying the sign for the bathroom. "It's true what they say; you don't buy beer, you just borrow it."  
"I'm so glad I didn't have a draught now." Eivind headed for the bathroom, Jonas right behind him. "Y'know, it looks pretty weird us going to the bathroom together."  
"I gotta piss," grumbled Jonas, waiting for Eivind to push open the door and then wrinkling his nose. "Although I'm not sure I need to go this badly."  
"I damn well do." Eivind wandered in, somewhat reluctantly. The bar outside was never going to be called sophisticated, but was at least clean. The bathroom looked like it hadn't been renovated in twenty years, or cleaned in twenty days. The fluorescent light flickered and hummed, the door to the one cubicle that could still boast that much privacy was covered in badly spelled and anatomically incorrect graffiti and the floor had maybe an inch of water that had spilled from a broken pipe. Not exactly a pleasant room, but it contained what they need and wasn't filthy, just uncared for.  
They assumed the positions – a urinal separating the ones they used, legs slightly parted, eyes on the ceiling throughout. The little talk was light and inconsequential. It took all of about one minute.  
And then the door slammed open and the drunk from earlier entered.  
Both men had been wondering if they should expect something like this – once the threat in front of them was removed and they'd taken some teasing about the confrontation by some equally drunk buddies, the urge to act could return stronger than ever. Eivind and Jonas weren't bar hoppers by nature, but they knew a few things about human nature. It wasn't a problem, both Eivind and Jonas knew how to keep themselves up in a bar fight. They were never caught with their pants down.  
Well, at least metaphorically, thought Eivind as the two zipped up.  
The drunk grinned at them, letting the door swing shut behind him.  
"Whazzup?"  
Eivind sighed and Jonas just shook his head. The guy was faking friendliness, but was tensed to do something stupid. It was written in every muscle in his body. The journalists on the other hand were casual, almost disinterested. Nor did they make any move toward the man blocking the door.  
The group remained that way for almost fifteen seconds before the drunk got bored and made his move, raising his now-empty bottle and heading at Jonas with a yell.  
Seemingly without any effort at all, Jonas casually twisted aside and let the drunks own momentum carry him forward. Almost as an afterthought, he raised his leg and used a graceful kick into the other's backside to propel the man even further forward. Maybe landing in the puddle of pissy water would teach him a lesson.  
The drunk fought to keep his feet on the slippery floor, succeeding against all odds and crashing into the wall, keeping his balance by catching the hand dryer and leaning on it heavily. Jonas and Eivind regarded him for a moment and then headed toward the door, maybe only twenty steps away.  
"…get you for that…"  
Eivind rolled his eyes. "He doesn't give up, does he?"  
"Tenacious," agreed Jonas, looking over his shoulder as the man tried to push himself away from the wall again. This time, his feet really did give out from under him and again he grabbed at the hand dryer to keep him from falling in the puddle.  
Without warning, the hand dryer came away from the wall.  
Stringent health and safety warnings surround these devices, meaning that there's no way they should be moveable, no matter how hard the Saturday night binge drinking crew try. And should the unthinkable happen, the electronics that powered the air and monitored the motion to set them off are not supposed to be exposed by this act. In any case, a failsafe device cuts all power to the unit the moment it maintains any damage.  
A shame then that the cowboy the landlord hired to save money on the job hadn't realised the consequences of cutting these corners to make the work cheaper.  
Drunk and dryer fell to the floor, the dangling wires catching the drunk's fallen form, electricity travelling through his body and from there, to the water on the bathroom floor. Within a second, the entire floor was electrified – faster than the men could move.  
Within the bar, the barmaid stared fearfully at the door to the men's room, the one she had been about to go through hoping to avert a fight, as the lights went out, electrical fittings blew and customers leapt to their feet, exclaiming and shouting their panic and confusion. All she could hear was the buzzing of electricity around her – and within, two soft thuds, accompanied by a scent of burning meat.

Bård sat in a café that overlooked the stadium, staring out over the charred ruins of the it. This morning the news had reported that Maria Mena had become a widow last evening, her husband had died due to a poor electricity job. The bar had been closed down, the investigations were about to follow, the usual banter.  
The list, the order in which he had seen the people in his vision die, was only a day old but the paper was soft and worn through much handling, repeatedly opened, checked, folded again. It looked like he'd had it for months.  
Once again he opened it, noting it was beginning to tear along the folds. He had considered crossing out those on it that he knew were already dead, but in the end, he didn't have the heart to do it. It seemed too final.   
There had been no mention of Maria's death in the reports, and the death of a VIP like her would have been reported. Although they hadn't claimed her alive either, or if they had he hadn't seen.  
This meant he had to assume the next person in the line of danger was Øyvind.   
His brothers and Magnus had gone over to Øyvind's house to share in his sorrow, but Bård had begged off claiming that he was the last person that Øyvind needed to see at that point. None of them could convincingly argue this wasn't the case and perhaps sensing that Bård wanted to be  
alone for once, didn't push the issue.  
He hoped he was wrong about the pattern of the deaths. Because if Øyvind died, Vegard was next, and as much as the other death's had hurt, Vegard's would break him.   
He planned to go and keep a watch on Øyvind's apartment from the outside, just to make sure. He didn't know if he could do anything, but there was no way in hell he wasn't going to try. He just wanted a few minutes alone to clear his head, try to make some sense out of the whole mess – and try to think of some way to convince his brothers of the pattern he saw emerging…  
"Bård."  
Bård whirled around, cursing himself inwardly. He might have been distracted, but he should be on alarm and should have sensed something.  
"Everything is alright, Vegard told me you would be here.” Maria came up to him and stood facing him, her eyes were red from crying, and after a few seconds, she through himself into Bård's arms. They held each other for a minute before they sat down in front of each other.   
"I am so sorry, Maria"   
"As am I, you lost friends, too, I heard." she replied. They sat silently, overlooking the ruins in the morning sun. After a minute, Maria started talking again, her voice unnaturally calm.  
"You saved our lifes. I was at the football game when this – accident occurred."  
"Yeah, I seem to rescue a lot of people so that they can meet their gruesome faith lately." Bård didn't mean to sound so harsh, he remembered that Maria had just lost the most important human in her life.   
„I'm sorry, I guess it is the stress talking.“  
Maria narrowed her eyes and looked at him, giving him an accepting nod, but her voice remained impassive. "You don't have to apologize. But, I take it, you have noticed something, too?"  
"Like?" Bård was surprised. If Maria had noticed, maybe he was not as crazy as he thought?  
"My husband who accompanied me to the game is dead, as are my cousin Tom and his girlfriend, an American, who sat in front of me."  
She took out a photograph of a couple, the woman a blonde, and recognising them   
hit Bård like a hammer blow. "What?"   
"Killed in a freak accident involving horses and a dog. And I have noticed that there have  
been a number of people who have survived the accident only to perish  
shortly afterwards in similarly odd events. Your friend Anders for example."  
"Two of them, Calle is died yesterday evening in a motorcycle accident.," muttered Bård, numb with shock. Maria gasped, fresh tears coming to her eyes. But Bård barely noticed.  
If Maria was right, then Øyvind could be next.   
"There's a pattern," explained Bård, handing her his paper without much care. If she was going to think he was crazy, let her. If he was doomed anyway, why bother?  
Maria read through the list and looked back up at Bård. "Tell me everything. How did you know what would happen?"  
Bård sighed and told her everything – the vision, the order of events, the point where he realised every little thing after his vision mirrored what he had seen in it. Maria raised an eyebrow as he told her of her own fiery demise but remained silent until the end of the story.  
"…So I don't know, but I think that Øyvind is next," Bård finished off.   
Maria reached under her chair and then picked up a small briefcase and slid it across the table at him.  
"I did some researches on my own before Eyvind died yesterday. A check on the death toll of survivors of catastrophes. Those who would have been involved but for some unforeseeable event."  
Bård opened the briefcase and wrinkled his nose at the piles of graphs. Vegard would be able to work it out, but to him it didn't make much sense.  
"As far as I can see, it doesn't make much difference," he said finally.  
"These people delayed on their way to the airport or stuck in traffic or whatever, they go on to live happily ever after."  
"To live anyway," added Maria gravely. "But I was considering your outburst and half-expected a tale such as that you told me. There are newspaper reports in there too."  
"Bård pulled them out and blinked as he scanned through some of the headlines.  
Seven survive 180 disaster – teen claims 'vision'.   
Tragedy at Club Kitty – Singer held for questioning.   
Devils Flight Disaster – Nervous teens cheat death.   
Horror elevator smash: Suspect claims 'psychic vision'.   
Boat explosion kills…   
"Um, I don't see what this has to do with anything," said Bård, looking up from the clippings.  
Maria rolled her eyes. "You were screaming about an accident, meaning you and several other people left before they could be killed. All these other incidents reported in the newspapers have two things in common; before each one person claimed that the accident would happen before  
it did and caused enough of a commotion to save several other people – and that shortly after, those who were saved began dying in freak accidents.  
Bård turned back to the clippings. "I think I remember the boat sinking."  
"Yes, it was heavily reported, there's a lot less information on some of the other events. But I found what I was looking for on conspiracy blogs”  
Bård looked at her hopefully. "And?"  
"Out of all those events, only three of the original survivors still live – after a fashion. One has vanished, there has been no sign in years and the parents are merely waiting the prerequisite amount of time to declare her dead. One is in a hostel for the terminally ill, with the final stages of AIDS. The third had a child some months after the event she initially survived and there are no death reports that we could find."  
Bård shook his head slowly. "But – how does this have something to do with us?"  
“You seemed to recognize my cousin and his girlfriend...”  
"They were both in my vision," he said quietly.  
"Where were they on the list?"  
"After Calle – before Øyvind…"  
"Then we have to assume that the pattern remains, those survivors are dying in the order they would have done in the stadium." Maria brushed irritably at a strand of hair that had blown across her face. "I suggest we group together all the survivors and see if we can come up  
with a plan."  
Bård waved the clippings in the air. "Do you have a plan?"  
"Our other alternative is waiting for death," answered Maria.   
Looking at her, Bård took out his mobile. "I'll call them"  
Bård flipped through the contacts in his mobile and called Vegard. His brother's voice came through the speaker, sounding concerned and forcibly reminding Bård that the only one standing between his brother and death was Øyvind. He'd already seen Vegard killed once; he had no desire to witness it again, and neither did he want to lose another friend in the last remaining of the Raske Menn.  
"Are you alright Bård? Has something happened?"  
"Not to me." Bård gave Maria a sideways glance. "You won't believe who I'm talking to right now…"


	3. Chapter 3

Ingrid Jansson climbed the stairs leading to the apartment next to her little convenience store and sighed as she threw her handbag onto the kitchen counter, not even bothering to sit down for five minutes before turning on the gas stove and emptying a tin of beans into the saucepan, putting them on the heat. She owned the lease on both the convenience store and the small place next to it, where she lived and she worked long hours. None so long as this last week though. Since the disaster at the stadium, there had been a steady stream of sightseers fuelled by morbid curiousity. Her shop was very close to the former stadium and she had been gaining a lot of extra business, selling snacks, drinks and cigarettes to those visiting. She had taken to selling bunches of flowers as well and they were selling to those who preferred to think of themselves as sympathetic to the dead.  
It also meant she got little time to relax. She had begun opening the shop at six in the morning and hadn't closed until seven that evening.  
Until recently she had been unable to afford to hire help and ironically, now she could afford it she didn't have the time to look.  
That day had been one of the busiest to date – she hadn't even had chance to grab something to eat. Hence her immediate rush to the stove to eat. She was starving.  
She shoved two slices of bread into the toaster and turned it on, just as the phone rang.  
Cursing, Ingrid left her meal and grabbed for the receiver. "Hello?"  
"Ingrid Jansson?"  
"Yeah, speaking." Ingrid returned to her meal, giving the beans a stir. If it was a telesales person, she was getting rid of them sharpish.  
"My name is Doctor Albertsen, calling from the hospital. It's about your mother."  
Ingrid's appetite left her immediately. "Oh God, has something happened?"  
"There's no real cause for alarm Mrs. Jansson. She had a fall about three hours ago and was brought in to us. She'll recover, she has a fractured wrist and a dislocated shoulder, but it would be better for her to have a family member around. She's quite shaken up."  
"I'm on my way." Ingrid hung up the phone and turned off the heat beneath the beans, ignoring the toast as it popped up. She grabbed her coat and was struggling into it as she recalled that her car keys were in her bag and tried to pick it up before her coat was on. There  
was a complicated moment as she forced her arms through the sleeves and ran for the door, pulled back as her bag caught on something in the kitchen. With an almighty yank, whatever it was caught on gave and she rushed from the apartment, too filled with concern to do her  
usual paranoid checks.

The other three friends met Bård at the café where Maria had found him, accompanied by Øyvind because Bård had insisted he should not be left alone, not when he might be next in line for death. When they arrived, it became clear why the friends had been reluctant to bring  
him along. While he wasn't pissing-down-his-leg drunk, he'd obviously been drowning his sorrows. His speech was slower than usual and slightly slurred, his movements overly careful. Then again, his only remaining colleague's and best friend's corpse had been pulled out of the river earlier that day – the man was entitled to a painkiller.  
Maria stood off to one side staring sadly into the distance while Bård outlined to the others what he had worked out about the pattern of deaths, offering the clippings that Maria had brought to Vegard, who scanned over them silently. Bjarte barely managed to keep quiet until the end of the story, bursting out the moment the final words of Bård's story died away. "Bård, are you nuts? You're trying to tell me that we're supposed to be dead and some cosmic fuck-up kept us alive? And now some two meter foot skeleton in a black robe's come to finish the job? That's the dumbest thing I ever heard!"  
Bård sighed dejectedly and glanced over at Maria. "I knew they wouldn't believe me."  
"You've got to admit Bård, it's pretty hard to believe," said Vegard gently.  
"Harder to believe than me seeing the future in the first place?" Bård countered sharply.  
Vegard shrugged. "It's easier to believe you had a vision of the future than it is to think that Death is coming to finish off the job. Look, you've been under a lot of pressure lately, with the accident and – and what happened to Anders and Calle…"  
"Wait." Magnus's voice was oddly without inflection. "When Bård was telling us what happened back at the lair that night, he told us the order then. He said Anders… Calle, Øyvind, Vegard, Maria, Bjarte – then me and Bård last. That's exactly what he said to us."  
Bjarte shot him a look of annoyance. "So? It's just a list of names, it doesn't mean anything!"  
"But the first two people Bård spoke about did die…" Magnus trailed off, then cleared his throat and tried again. "They were both alive when he spoke to us. They'd just left the lair!  
And unless he can see the future…"  
The others looked at him disbelievingly.  
"Okay, bad choice of words. What I mean is that Bårdk knew the order we died in at the stadium and so far the rest of us are just fine. If the deaths are occurring in the same order that they would have done, then maybe there's something we can do to – I don't know, prevent dying. We did it once, maybe we can do it again."  
"Guys,"growled Øyvind. "Stop the bullshit. In case you forgot, the next  
person on Bård's little 'list' is sitting right over there."  
Øyvind waved a hand at himself dismissively. "Well, I don't care. Doesn't matter now. Nothing does. Gotta die sometime."  
"Don't talk like that Øyvind!" said Bård, sounding upset.  
Vegard stared across the rooftops to the burned-out stadium, thinking. "If the order in which we're to die is preordained – and that doesn't mean I buy your theory Bård – then if we stop the next person from dying then the rest of us are safe."  
Bård shrugged. "I guess."  
"Well, nothing's going to happen to Øyvind while we're around."  
"Newsflash Vegard!" Bård snatched the photograph, the one of Holly and Tommy, from Magnus and thrust it in his face, "Those two died on the same street at the same time in two separate animal attacks! No one saw it coming, it was a bizarre accident! Just like what happened to Calle and Anders and Eyvind – I saw them all at the stadium and I don't know how I'm supposed to know when things are going to happen…"  
"Bård!"  
Vegard batted the photo out of his face, knocking it to the floor, grabbing Bård by the shoulders. "Get a grip!You have to calm down," continued Vegard maddeningly. "If you're right, then we need to think about this and work something out, not lose our heads!"  
Bård looked down from Vegard's gaze, turning his head away.   
Suddenly the friends were taken by surprise by the yell as Øyvind dived from the café, the friends following him.   
„ØYVIND! What the heck are you planning to do?“  
„I'm not gounna sit here, I'll go to the stadium and end things!“  
Bård was slightly confused by Øyvind's outburst, but his friend was drunk, so in Øyvind's mind his actions might well be logical.   
He ran down the staircase, falling on the last few steps, but landed awkwardly and rolled away. He struggled to his feet and stood in front of a convenience store, turning right towards the burned out stadium, knocking away a man who was about to lit his cigarette with his Zippo, which was thrown through an open window in the basement.  
Unknown to any of them, earlier in the night Ingrid Jansson had snagged her handbag on the gas control for the cooker. The oven had been fortunately unlit, but the gas had escaped anyway, filling the building with deadly fumes.  
The Zippo sparked a fire, which ignited the gas.  
The building blew outwards.  
The rush of air blew everyone off their feet. Bjarte, landed in the middle of the street, Vegard was knocked into the side of the building opposite and Bård, Magnus and Maria were thrown into a heap of arms and legs.  
"Nice going Øyvind," muttered Vegard, staring at the burning building.  
"You two are heavy," grumbled Maria, shoving Bård and Magnus off her.  
"Oh, sorry," muttered Magnus, getting up quickly. Bård barely noticed.  
His attention was taken by Øyvind, who has also got to his feet. The wall fell outwards, toppling down into the street.  
Øyvind was buried beneath the bricks.  
"Øyvind!"screamed Vegard and Bjarte at the same time, both running over to the fallen debris. There was no sign of the man. Magnus he raced over to help Vegard and Bjarte.  
Bård remained rooted to the spot, staring in shock at the fallen rubble beneath which Øyvind had vanished.  
He was dead, dead…   
And Vegard's next!   
Looking over at Vegard, Bård let his gaze travel upways to the ruined apartment above the convenience store. He could see the interior, the furnishings in flames, the walls crumbling and falling. It reminded him too much of the night the stadium had gone up in flames – the night they had almost lost Vegard….  
The floor of the apartment above listed suddenly sideways, sending furniture flying forward. But the floor didn't break entirely, all that happened was the fixtures slid forward toward the street.  
Vegard didn't know what hit him at first. One moment he was trying to dig Øyvind out with his bare hands, the next something hit him hard and he was thrown across the street, someone landing on top of him, breathing heavily. As he hit the ground, he registered a loud crash.  
Years of artististic practice paid of; he was on his feet with his hand around his assailants throat before he realised it was Bård.  
"Bård!" Vegard withdrew and gave his little brother an infuriated look. "Why did you do that?"  
Bård shook his head and pointed mutely to where Vegard had been standing. Vegard  
turned and went cold. A heavy stereo unit had smashed down right where he had been seconds before. It looked like solid mahogany and had to weigh at least a couple of hundred pounds.  
Vegard stared for a moment. Bjarte and Magnus had temporarily ceased in their endevours, eyes like saucers, staring at Vegard and Bård.  
"I did it."  
Vegard turned back to Bård as he heard the words, still shocked but wondering if his brother had gone temporarily insane. Bård had got to his feet and looked on incrediously.   
"I did it! I beat the Reaper! Fuck you Death! You hear me? Fuck you!"  
The floor of the apartment finally gave way, sending more furniture plummeting into the shop below. The CD rack slid forward and upended, sending CD boxes and several loose CDs flying into the street. They shot forward with lethal velocity.  
Maria shaded her eyes against the glare, not even seeing the discs heading outward. A copy of Ingrid's favourite song, 99 Luftballons, caught her in the throat, slicing through her trachea as easily as if it had been a knife. Maria widened her eyes in shock and her hands went up to her throat and she instinctively yanked the disc from her wound. A mistake as it turned out. The wound gushed an alarming amount of blood out, spraying the friends as they rushed to her aid.  
Vegard caught her as she fell forward, her eyes clouding over as the life bled from her.  
In the distance came the sound of sirens.  
"Guys, we have to go," said Magnus firmly. „We can't explain this anymore! The police is going to arrest us, and we will all die at the station!“   
Bård gazed at Maria in horror. "But – she wasn't next, Vegard was…"  
"We can't just leave," added Bjarte. "Øyvind's still under there!"  
"There's nothing more we can do for him!" said Magnus, frustrated. "He's gone!“   
"As is Maria," murmered Vegard.  
"It wasn't her turn," continued Bård, oblivious to his brothers.  
"She wasn't supposed to be until after Vegard – what changed?"  
"Bård!"  
Magnus grabbed his friend by the shoulders and shook him. "We can figure it out when we get back – we need to leave!"  
"Magnus is right," said Vegard, closing Maria's eyes and laying her down, straightening up. "We have to go. There's nothing more we can do here, and we don't stand a chance to beat this if we are arrested."  
"Nothing any of us can do," added Bård bleakly.  
Bjarte shook his head in denial. "Øyvind could still be alive!"  
"And we can't dig him out," replied Vegard wearily. "The fire department can. And we were seen, look, people are watching us through the windows. Someone will tell them he's under there."  
"But –"  
"Bjarte!"  
Vegard's voice took on the hard edge he sometimes used to call his younger brothers into line. "We have to go right now. I'm sorry – but we have to."  
They took one last look over their shoulders at the burning rubble at the foot of the shop, but followed Vegard as he left, grabbing Bård by the wrist and leading him toward their car. Bård seemed to have succumbed to shock, hollow-eyed and silent.  
"I think this proves that Bård's theory was more accurate than we wanted to believe," said Magnus as they were driving towards Bård's appartement. The four had been mostly silent until then, lost in their own thoughts.  
"I guess it does," said Vegard somberly. "But what can we do about it?"  
"Whatever we do, I'd like to make it quick," growled Bjarte with uncharacteristic bitterness. "Since the Raske Menn are gone, Vegard's been skipped over somehow and Maria's dead, the next person on Bård's list is me."

When they entered the apartment, Magnus stirred them into the kitchen, putting water into the kettle and preparing tea for them, while Vegard was already involved in working out the events of the evening.  
"Somehow, I managed to avoid being next on the list. And by avoiding it, I was skipped over. It went right on to the next person, Maria. Isn't it obvious?" Vegard glanced at the three of them, noting their worried faces. "That unit was supposed to land on me. If it had done, I would have been pancake. But because Bård saw it coming, he managed to step up – and I was taken off the list."  
Bjarte scowled. "So what are you saying? That the rest of us have to wait around until we nearly get killed, hoping to get skipped over? I guess all we have to do then is wait for a ton of bricks to fall on my head, since I'm the next one doing the dying!"  
"So now you believe me" snapped Bård, still shaken from seeing his hard won victory over certain death snatched back and replaced with uncertainty again. "You think there's an order to the deaths as soon as it's you next."  
Bjarte threw his arms in the air. "Yeah, okay? I believe you! You convinced me, there's an order to the deaths and mine's next. Happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear?"  
"Yeah, I'm ecstatic. That's exactly what I wanted to hear. Asshole."  
The four friends sat down in silence for the sweet tea Magnus had prepared.  
Bjarte spoke first: „Well, it seems that you were given the chance to cheat death, Bård, and I know that being outsmarted has never made any sentient being happy.“  
Bård could be silent no more. "Death's got it in for us because I had a dream? What do you suggest, send a a flower bouquet and ask please not to chase us with high explosives any more?"  
They regarded him impassively and after a moment Bård hung his head. "Sorry. This is getting to me"  
Vegard put an arm around his younger brother. "We understand, Bård. We can't fight back with fists, logic, trickery, or by begging for our lives. But that I still live – this gives me a sense of hope. Maybe we can win after all."  
Vegard looked at his brothers and Magnus, a little ashamed to have lived when they were still in danger. "So, what do we know?"  
"You're the safest one here," said Magnus. "If you've been taken off the list then Bjarte's in the most danger, then it'll be me, then Bård."  
"I'm not so sure," said Bård. "I mean, Vegard's not immortal or anything. Cheating death doesn't mean you live forever. It just means we can't tell for sure when he dies. But we know Bjarte's in real danger; we have to watch for the signs."  
"Signs?" Bjarte laughed but there was no humour in it. "I can see it now. I gotta use the little friends room and someone sticks up a notice telling me the next person in there's gonna get sucked down by faulty plumbing. Yeah, great."  
Bård shook his head. "No literal signs. There was something – a feeling, an object or a noise or something that would give me a real bad feeling. I have to keep watching for them."  
"That's just great." Bjarte rolled his eyes. "I just gotta wait. At least Øyvind never knew what hit him. Forget this."  
Jumping to his feet, Bjarte managed three steps away from the others before Vegard grabbed his wrist. "Where do you think you're going?"  
Bjarte snatched his arm away and rounded on Vegard. "I'm going out dancing, where do you think? Man, I'm gonna go use the Playstation!"  
"That might not be a good idea Bjarte," said Magnus reluctantly. "Look at what happened toEivind…"  
"What, you think the computer's gonna jump out and bite me with you guys around?" Bjarte scowled mutinously.  
"Being around people didn't help anyone else," replied Magnus.  
Bjarte threw his arms into the air. "Fine! That's just fine! Why don't I just lock myself in a padded room in case something else comes to get me – wait! What if the padding comes loose and forces its way down my throat and chokes me? Couldn't have that!"  
"Bjarte!" Vegard trailed after him as he stormed off toward the PlayStation."You can't get into a fist fight with Death!"  
"If he comes near me, I'll rip his spine out of his asshole and feed it to Mamma's cat!" To emphasise his point, Bjarte slammed a fist into the Tiffany hanging lamp, which swung backwards violently. The seemingly unfrayed cable suddenly snapped in half, sending the heavy lamp hurling backwards. It slammed against a low bench, exploding into a million shards of glass. The biggest ones went flying in a lethal barrage toward Vegard and Bjarte.  
With a yell, the pair hit the floor and covered their heads as the shards whizzed above their heads, embedding themselves into the furniture around the appartement or losing momentum and clattering to the floor.  
Bjarte peeked out from under his arms, eyeing the damage to Bård's furnishings. "Um, about that padded room…?"

Roger Brensvold was in trouble.  
He ducked around a corner, hearing the sirens as they grew ever nearer – and worse, in the distance were the sounds of a police helicopter. He was in the worst trouble of his life.  
And it wasn't even like it was his fault! He was being unfairly persecuted, that was what it was.  
Two years before, he had met another man in a bar, drunk a few beers with him and they had fallen to chatting about big business. Big business, explained the man, was the reason why the country was in the state it was in. The rich only got richer and the poor working class guys, like them, were crapped on time and again. The implication was that if the business world were to suffer some kind of calamity then the world would be a better, fairer place to live.  
The man introduced himself as Scout and informed Roger that he was part of a group dedicated to doing just that; bringing down the huge corporations that made material wealth the biggest prize and the hardest thing in modern life. The difference between their group and the other dippy-hippy ones confided Scout, was that they weren't a lot of talk and hot air. Giving out leaflets and crying into a void wasn't their style. Less talk, more action.  
Roger, idealistic, more than a little drunk and coming down with a mild case of hero-worship, agreed to meet with the others in the group. And things had spiralled from there. Somehow, he had found himself drawn into the group, planning, scheming. The targets had been chosen with care, the dates, the methods. The plan took a lot of work, but it had finally been coming together before the shit hit the fan.  
Melina, beautiful, leggy Melina who spoke of revolution and equality. Melina, who understood the implications of their acts more than he did. Melina, who could preach their ideologies until only a fool would disagree with her – Melina was an informant. She had sold them all out to the cops and that night, the full wrath of the Oslo police had fallen on them.  
Roger had fled the building, sheer luck allowing him to escape when the others were captured, luck that allowed him to grab the dynamite that was the physical evidence of their plans.  
Now his luck was running out.  
Leaning against the wall, breathing heavily and cursing his twenty a day cigarette habit, Roger tried to think. It was clear he wasn't getting away. They were after him, determined to take him down. All he could do was be chased down, or surrender…  
Or he could try a little distraction and see if it helped his escape.  
Roger looked down at the rucksack he carried, stuffed with dynamite. More than enough to cause some serious damage, after all they were planning on bombing an oil company. If only he were somewhere he could fire it up without problems – but although he was in a district where the houses stood far apart, he didn't want to risk hurting someone, even if it was a cop.  
The owners of those houses were high class, not working stiffs like him, but they were employers, and a lot of their family members were in their houses, too. And no one became a working class hero by torching the only money source of the poor.   
The sirens closed in, coming ever closer to his hiding place. And then Roger saw what might just be his lifeline.  
There was a manhole nearby, the lid caught on something and not properly closed. All he knew that it was a place to unload the dynamite – and perhaps the distraction he was looking for.  
Had he been thinking properly instead of panicking, he might have crept into the sewers himself, but the idea was so alien that it didn't even occur to him. Instead, he rushed for the manhole, dragging it open with an effort, willing whatever deity might be watching over him to allow him just a few more seconds.  
Taking his cigarette lighter from his pocket, he opened the rucksack, held the flame to the fuse for a moment until it caught alight, then dropped the entire bag into the sewer and ran for his life.  
The resulting explosion tore up half the asphalt, sending chunks of concrete raining on the surrounding area. The tremors knocked Roger off his feet and a particularly heavy slab of sidewalk crushed his skull to pulp before he could scramble back to his feet.  
Below the street surface, pipes burst, tunnels collapsed and sewers for two miles around backed up violently. The city council would have a six month headache fervently trying to undo the damage that occurred.  
And anyone living within the blast zone would have a more immediate headache to worry about.

Bjarte sat moodily on the couch, apparently ignoring the conversation going on around him. Bård had opted to perch on the back of the couch, Vegard had taken an arm and Magnus had fortunately sat next to Bjarte, in order to stop Bård upending the furniture. The glass shards had been removed from their resting places and by unspoken agreement, three of the friends had done a quick sweep of the appartement, removing all the glass and hiding it in Bård's room, where they were least likely to do anyone any damage. Bård seemed to be as lost for ideas as they were and that worried all of them. Bård never ran out of ideas. He always knew of something that could be done.  
Vegard rubbed his forehead as if fighting off a headache. "Nature abhors a vacuum – you know that saying, right?"  
Bård shot him a sideways look. "And this is relevant how?"  
"Because it might explain why we're dying. What nature abhors, it disposes of."  
"I always knew the world had it in for me," muttered Bjarte bleakly.  
"That's not what I mean either. Some people say that destiny, fate, isn't determined by chance or choice, but because every move, everything we ever do, is already decided for us. But what if there's a way to change those events and Bård somehow tapped into that, found out about it? That means we should be dead already and our existence is messing up a lot of other plans. Our lives touch other people's lives. Raske Menn and Maria were famous, Eivind was a well known journalist. People are missing them, I even heard of fans telling them they were their reasons to live, Eivind reported from war zones, he might even have prevented genocide. Because of the delay, there might be people still alive who would have died or events that haven't happened that should have. Us dying is nature's way of restoring the balance."  
Bjarte shrugged. "I think I preferred the other explanation about Death being pissed at us."  
"And it hardly matters." Vegard stared at the ceiling, a scowl darkening his features. "My death was skipped over because I was saved. But that wouldn't make sense, because I'm still messing up things by being alive. Does that mean we just have to wait for nature to realise we cheated death again so it can come after us again or is surviving twice somehow – cancelling out the debt?"  
Magnus shook his head slowly. "I don't know."  
"Anyway," Bjarte broke in. "This glass we just ducked. If we're right about Vegard being off the list because Bård saved him, then doesn't that mean I'm off the list because they missed and we oughtta be looking out for Magnus?"  
Bård shook his head. "No, that doesn't feel right."  
Bjarte glared at him. "Doesn't feel right? What are you talking about?"  
"This broken glass wouldn't have killed you, and you know it."  
"About twenty glass daggers just flew at my head!"  
"Well, maybe they would have – knocked you backwards and you fell over the carpet and tripped and broke your neck or – I don't know! I just know that a little glass wouldn't have killed you and that doesn't count as a near death experience. Vegard would have been killed though. I just – I don't know why."  
Vegard looked up at Bård. "But I have kind of a theory…"  
For the first time, the three friends looked hopeful and Bård raised his head, his features close to a smile that Vegard couldn't return. "You won't like it."  
"We don't have anything else to go on," said Magnus. "Try us."  
"Well – if we can strike our names from the list by cheating death a second time, then maybe we can manufacture the conditions that would be involved in that."  
Bjarte raised an eye ridge and regarded Vegard suspiciously. "I don't like where this is going ."  
"Manufacture the same conditions?" Bård stared incredulously at his older brother. "You mean – you want to recreate a situation that could kill us?"  
Vegard sighed. "I know it sounds out there, but hear me out. If we can die – clinically die – we can be brought back to life and as far as Death is concerned, we're already deceased and we're off the list!"  
Bård tried a half hearted smile. "You guys are always threatening to kill me."  
Vegard shook his head emphatically. "No, no way, I must be going crazy. It's too dangerous. There's too much that could go wrong, too many variables…"  
"And it's not your decision to make Vegard," said Bjarte. "You're already off the list, I'm next in line; it's not you with a death sentence on you. I say, I'll try it out and if you can bring me back it should be safe to work on Bård and Magnus. Vegard and I are trained in CPR."  
"We're going to kill yourselves to cheat Death?" Vegard jumped to his feet and began to pace. "Have you any idea how crazy that sounds?"  
"Vegard. It was your idea. And it is a good one." Bjarte raised a hand and Vegard stopped, although he was obviously still agitated. "There are no other options. We must do what we have to – to save our family."  
Vegard nodded, his eyes closing, pausing for a moment before looking up, his expression determined. "Alright. We'll do this – but guys, you talk me through everything. Everything. If even one thing goes wrong…"  
"Nothing's gonna go wrong Vegard," said Bjarte impatiently. "And hell, if it does we're not much worse off."  
"There'd better not be any of those funky Flatliners dreams," muttered Magnus.  
Bjarte ignored him. "So Vegard, ready to do this?"  
"You bet." The pair rose from the couch at the same time, leaving the weight wholly on the back where Bård sat and causing gravity to take over and dump him and the couch on the floor.  
"Yowch!"  
In spite of the serious situation, Vegard smiled. "That's what you get for sitting on the back of…"  
Bård interrupted him, spying something previously hidden by the couch. "Hey, my Teen Titans comic! Remember Vegard, we used to collect those as children! I wondered where this had gone!"  
Grabbing the comic, he flipped through the pages, his cheer fading as he came to a page in the middle. Robin was trapped in a car in a river, unable to open the door to escape until the pressure within the vehicle was equal to that outside. Suddenly a chill came over him.  
"Don't you think we have more important things to worry about?" asked Vegard, not unkindly.  
"Guys," said Bård flatly. "I have a really bad feeling…"  
There was a rumble from the pipes around them and all the friends looked around nervously. Unconsciously, Bjarte let his hands drop to dig his fingers in the couch. "What was that?"  
Magnus looked over to the ktichen sink. "I don't li…"  
His words were drowned out by a series of crashing sounds as the tunnel under the apartment collapsed, taking the entire living room with it.

When the clouds of dust lifted enough to breath again and Vegard knew he was not hurt, he called out.  
„Guys?“  
„Yeah, I'm okay, but I'm bleeding a little!“ Magnus had survived the short fall rather comfortably, being seated on the couch, but some debris had caused his head to bleed.   
Bård could be heard coughing, but yelled over the fog that he was okay, too. „  
„My pretty, pretty ass... it will be coloured in all shades of blue, but otherwise I'm fine!“ That was Bjarte. „What about you?“  
Vegard took a good look around. As far as he could see, the basement apartement was now in the cellar. It was completely destroyed, and the ceiling of Bård's former apartement, permeated by huge cracks and uneven, hovered less than two meters over their heads. Magnus would probably have to dug when he stood. The side of the apartement that led to the river was blown open, too, a whole in the ground letting them see the water just 30 centimeters under the uneven ground they were standing on. Vegard considered them lucky, the whole apartement could have fallen into the river and they would all be dead by now.   
But they were by no means safe and had to get out fast, or the killing spree of Death would take another toll.   
Vegard went over and bound Magnus' head wound with a table cloth that seemed relatively clean. Then whipped his head around, looking over at his brothers. "Bjarte, back away. Now."  
"But –"  
There was a scream of tortured metal from the pipes in the walls and suddenly one of them gave way through the wall shooting water across the floor of the apartement.   
Bjarte looked up, startled. "What the hell is going on?"  
"Something in the sewer system," replied Magnus, looking down at the water spreading around his feet. "But it had to be something really major for –"  
Another pipe gave way, spraying more water around them. And then another, something darker and less pleasant than mere rain run-off emerging from it at high speed.  
"My equipment!" Bård headed toward the computers, suddenly determined to shut off all the power. The consequences could be disastrous if the water became electrified – and the death sentence they were under suddenly seemed realer than ever before.  
Vegard could feel the situation begin to get away from him. "Bjarte, get away from here, get into the upper levels now."  
Bjarte bristled. "Just a –"  
" NOW!!"   
Recognising the tone in Vegard's voice as part order and part plea, Bjarte took off to look for the reminder of the staircase leading to the upper levels.  
"Bård, get away from there!" said Magnus sharply as Bård reached out to shut off the power.  
"I'm fine as long as Bjarte and you…" Bård cut off the words sharply, his arm hesitating a moment as he recognised the implications of his words.  
Still hanging on to Teen Titans, Bård stared around in shock. The exit was a no-go, staircase Bjarte tried to scramble up was really leading nowhere – and the water was ankle deep and still rising.  
Death wasn't coming. Death was here.  
Something made him glance up at the pipes. A fourth let go, this one more sluggish than the others, the metal sagging listlessly from the ceiling. A wide split suddenly yawned open at another part of the pipe, causing the whole thing to creak dangerously, unable to maintain its own weight for much longer.  
Looking back down, Bård realised Bjarte's retreat would lead him directly below it in a matter of seconds.  
"Bjarte!"   
The pipe tore loose from the ceiling, plummeting down. Bjarte realised at the last moment that some thing was heading to him and tried to outrun it, but the pipe caught him between his shoulders and knocked him flying forward – right into the newly formed pool of water that had been the river – view side of Bård's former living room. The pipe hit the floor, rolled and fell right in after him.  
"BJARTE!"  
Bård raced after his only little brother, ignoring Vegard's panicked yells, taking a deep breath and diving straight into the murky water. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, his body protesting the sudden change in temperature. But a second was all he needed; below him he could see Bjarte, the pipe that had knocked him over pushing him further into the water and preventing him from resurfacing. Bjarte hadn't had chance to take a breath before being knocked into the water, air bubbles escaping from his mouth. As Bård watched, he was forced to suck in water and began to drown.  
No way. No way am I losing Bjarte.  
Bård swam down desperately, noticing how Bjarte thrashed around trying to escape the drag of the pipe. Bjarte was going to die right there  
Redoubled his efforts, Bård drew level with Bjarte as he sank, realising that he wasn't going to be able to shift the heavy pipe in time. Instead, he grabbed Bjarte's leg and using all his strength, yanked at it. Bjarte floated toward him with surprising ease, the pipe continuing downward as Bjarte was pulled from beneath it.  
Wrapping an arm around his little brother, noting his bulging eyes and desperately clenched jaw, Bård shot toward the surface as fast as he could go, wondering if it would make any difference at all. Bjarte's movements were weakening rapidly and he made no attempt to help Bård in their quest out of the water…  
And then Bård broke the surface, releasing the air he had been holding in his lungs and taking a deeper one, releasing the second in one shout.  
"Vegard!"   
But it was Magnus who was there to help him pull Bjarte out of the water, Magnus who dragged Bjarte while Bård hoisted his brother out of the water and scrambled over the edge himself, shocked at just how deep the water in the cellar had gotten. It had been to his ankles before, now it was to his knees. And Bjarte wasn't moving… wasn't breathing.  
Bård lifted Bjarte by the armpits and dragged him onto the bridge that crossed the pool, alternately muttering pleas and threats, Magnus right behind him.  
"Come on Bjarte, come on, you can't die on me, breathe Bjarte, just breathe, BREATHE BJARTE BREATHE! "  
The moment that Bård lay Bjarte down on the bridge, Vegard shoved him forcibly out of the way, putting his hands on Bjarte's torso and starting CPR. Bård stared as Vegard slammed hard on Bjarte's breast, trying to get through the rip cage to inflate the lungs under the surface.  
"Bård!"  
Bård gazed at Bjarte, wondering just how his much-adored brother could look so lifeless when he was usually brimming with energy…  
Bård dived over and blew hard into Bjarte's mouth.  
"Carefully!" Vegard put a hand on Bård's back and pulled him away, continuing with the chest compressions, muttering under his breath. "Do it again!"  
Bård leant over and blew into Bjarte's mouth again, wondering crazily if Bjarte would kick his ass for this if he lived through it. Or if their brother would tease them mercilessly. Even though he knew it was doubtful, his mind was coming up with the freaky conversational possibilities, making him wonder if he was going insane. Surely there were more pressing things to worry about than if Vegard and Magnus would indulge in too many 'brotherly love' jokes...  
...And then Bjarte coughed, spitting up a glut of water. Magnus turned the friends head to one side to prevent the fluid going back down his throat and Bjarte took a shaky inhalation before giving out a series of pained coughs, more water emerging from his mouth. His breaths were shaky and irregular, but they were there. Bjarte might have been drowning, but now he was going to live.  
This just might mean he's off the list - and the next person on it is Magnus!   
Bård leapt to his feet as Bjarte opened his eyes, looking frantically for his two brothers. They were over near the computer desk, battling the rising tide of water, which by now was rising further up their legs. Vegard's actions had stopped Bård from trying to shut down the power.  
A chunk of concrete fell from the ceiling without warning, landing on the edge of the computer table and sending equipment flying. Wires ripped from their plugs, negating the immediate worry of electrocution. A second chunk landed directly in front of Magnus and without pausing, he threw himself aside. The concrete missed him by inches and he paused for a brief second to pull the tablecloth that was suppossed to stop the minor head wound from bleeding down around his neck as the water weighted it down and impaired his vision.  
At the same time, the fallen rubble that had cut the apartement entrance off and caused the water to be trapped within suddenly shifted under the pressure, several gaps appearing through which the liquid could escape. The rapid outpouring was reminiscent of unplugging a bath; the water rushed toward the new exit and took with it anything that had previously been floating atop it.  
Magnus had been distracted only a moment, but a moment was all it took. The shift of the water took him by surprise, sweeping his feet from underneath him. His back brushed against the concrete debris as he went, the table cloth that had been loose around his neck catching there and slipping down the length, trapping Magnus within its circle.  
Magnus didn't realise what had happened until his butt hit the floor and the rushing water pulled him along. The speed of the water yanked him forcibly toward the exit - the only thing keeping him in place being the table cloth pulled tight against his windpipe.  
It was more like manual strangulation than hanging, the extra force against the fabric that the water caused exerting more pressure on Magnus' neck and acting much more rapidly than had he been over a gap. Frantically he reached behind him to grab the concrete, hoping to heave himself backward and relieve the pressure long enough to rescue himself, but the stone was wet and with no way to brace his feet against the gushing water, his hands kept slipping. Every time he tried, his face was submerged beneath the water.  
Dragged against the tide, Magnus felt his strength begin to ebb alarmingly rapidly. His struggles became feebler and the fire ignited as he tried to snatch some breath through the pinhole that his agonised throat had become was excruciating. The pressure building within his head was immense, as if the blood was gathering there and would any minute start gushing from his nose, mouth and ears... or maybe his head would just explode, although he knew it was scientifically impossible. Even his eyes were warm and as he tried to blink, his vision began to turn red.  
"Magnus!"   
Vegard's voice cut through the cellar as he struggled against the water. He searched for a sharp piece of debris in the water and found a piece of glass with which he started attacking the table cloth as soon as he reached Magnus. After about ten seconds that felt like centuries to the, the tablecloth ripped. Magnus escaped from the grip of the trap just as his struggles were fading to little more than sporadic twitches. He was carried with the water, but by now most of it had escaped into the sewers and the trail was sluggish and shallow. He barely drifted three feet before gently fetching up against the wall and staying there, the momentum of the water spent.  
Vegard got to him first, Bård a short distance behind, Bjarte managing to roll onto his elbow and watching from a distance with worried eyes. Bård glanced down at where Magnus' head rested in Vegard's lap. There were ugly marks on Magnus' neck which were bound to bruise and his eyes were bloodshot but he was breathing, albeit in harsh, pained gasps.  
"Will he be...?"  
"He'll be fine." Vegard glanced up, eyes filled with worry. "Bård, that was too close. He should be dead!"  
Bård backed away in a hurry. "Don't come near me - if he's cheated death, then I'm the next on the..."  
Another rumble from the tunnels drew their attention as in the distance, more debris fell loose. The tremors loosened another piece of the ceiling of the ceiling, which plummeted to ground, landing at an angle on a still upright lamp post. Giving in to the strain, the lamp post snapped, bottom half still jammed in the mess on the floor, the top flying across the apartement like a javelin.  
There was another distant, ominous sound of collapsing tunnels, but within the cellar save for the sounds made by the friends, all was finally quiet. And the sounds of falling were not caused by debris this time.

Vegard glanced up at the Bergen skyline. It was another beautiful day, the sun warm, not a cloud in the sky. There were those who thought a day set aside for remembrances of the dead should be overcast and dull, possibly raining, as if nature itself mourned the loss. But the events of the past month had taught Vegard that nature, like Death, was indifferent to the sufferings and hopes of an individual, their triumphs and their sorrows. Their intent was to remember and to thank those individuals who during their lives had brought some sunshine with them. Perhaps the weather would aid them in recalling that their friends were missed because of that sunshine and to think of that rather than the sorrow that they were no longer able to.  
"Vegard?"  
Bjarte approached Vegard, his demeanour unusually sombre. "The others are waiting. You sure you wanna do this?"  
"Although I wish it was not necessary, it is what I want to do." Vegard set off walking toward the woods, Bjarte keeping pace with him. The other friends were waiting at the edge of the woods, their faces identical masks of solemnity and sadness.  
There was a pause as they stood in a line, then Vegard took the unspoken cue and began to speak.  
"We've lost a lot of people whom we were proud to call our friends. Anders, Calle, Øyvind, Maria – they all made our lives better and for that, we'll never forget them. I just wish we could mourn them properly, separately, as they deserve. But we can't. All we can do is to remember them and thank them."  
He paused, staring at the ground and struggling to keep his composure. A moment later, he felt the weight of Bjarte's hand on his shoulder and gave him a grateful look before continuing.  
"And it's even harder to mourn them when we feel one loss more than theirs… it's just… it's not fair everything that happened, it had to end that way."  
Amen to that, thought Bjarte, struggling against bitter anger. This was not the time. Instead he looked past Vegard to where their friend stood and their parents, more accurately, the beautifully decorated container hugged tightly against his chest.

Vegard glanced up, eyes filled with worry. "Bård, that was too close. He should be dead!"   
Bård backed away in a hurry. "Don't come near me - if he's cheated death, then I'm the next on the..."   
Another rumble from the tunnels drew their attention as in the distance, more debris fell loose. The tremors loosened another piece of the ceiling of the ceiling, which plummeted to ground, landing at an angle on a still upright lamp post. Giving in to the strain, the lamp post snapped, bottom half still jammed in the mess on the floor, the top flying across the apartement like a javelin, the splintered end where it had broken off lethally sharp and the trajectory deadly accurate. It punched through the side of Bård's neck, momentum carrying it through the muscle and sinew until the obstacle halted it before it could emerge from the other side, although the skin there bulged out from the invader. Bård's eyes widened and his mouth fell open as he registered the pain - but there was barely time for that and the light was dying from his eyes even as his body fell forward. He landed on his knees and fell to the side, making no attempt to use his hands to brace himself. The side of his head struck the floor with a loud smack, the force driving the end of the wodden post finally through the opposite side of his neck with a wet, tearing sound.   
" Bård!"  
Vegard would have dropped Magnus' head if the other hadn't been making a feeble attempt to rest on his elbows. Instead, Vegard scrambled to his feet and raced over to where Bård was lying, his hands hesitating for a brief second as he wondered if his attempts to help would injure Bård further – then he decided there was little that would hurt him further and took his brothers hands in his own, kneeling low in front of him so Bård could see he wasn't alone.   
" Bård!"   
Bjarte's voice was hoarse, but filled with anguish and without looking, Vegard knew that he was making his way over, no near drowning keeping Bjarte away. But there wasn't going to be time. Bård's eyes slipped closed, then opened again, blood spilling over his lips as they moved, trying to speak although there was no way he would be able to make any sound.   
Vegard leant closer, trying to read the words, his view already distorted by tears. Bård gasped out another glut of blood and tried again. And this time Vegard realised what he was saying.  
Then his eyes closed and without ceremony, Bård died.  
Vegard turned and looked up at Bjarte, who stood behind him, resting his hands on his knees. Magnus was standing behind Bjarte, bruises already flowering on his neck, his eyes on the floor. 

Vegard closed his eyes and shook his head.   
Magnus kept hold of the container that Bård's ashes were in while Vegard lapsed into silence, trying to find the right words to say. By unspoken agreement, it had been decided that Bård's remains should not be kept in Oslo with them, but scattered above ground around their hometown Bergen. Bård had loved life and it seemed more appropriate to say their goodbyes where plenty of it had happened.  
"Bård saved us," Vegard suddenly announced, his words coming out in bursts like machine gun fire. "He made us leave the stadium even though we didn't believe him. He tried to do something to save our friends and he put himself in danger to save us again – if it wasn't for what Bård did, we'd all be dead now."  
"The last thing Bård said… he said end of list. He was trying to tell me – to reassure us, even though he was dying – trying to tell me that he was the last person on the list. That we were safe because he was dead. And I would rather have Bård back than my own safety, but I know it gave him some peace. To know that we were safe and that his dying was proof of that… because he couldn't go until we were dead or safe…"  
Vegard broke off again and Bjarte gave him a worried look, wondering if his only remaining brother was going to be able to do this.  
Vegard cleared his throat and then continued. "What Bård did for us – he gave us a gift. He gave us a future. And it's up to us to make the most of what he gave us and to make the most of that future, just like he would – if he were with us."  
There were a few moments of silence, then Magnus stepped forward with the container, not wanting the moment to end because what he held in his hands was the last physical trace of his friend and as soon as he let it go, there would be nothing left of Bård left at all. But Vegard was reaching out to take the container and after a moment of hesitation that was a fraction of a moment too long to go unnoticed, Magnus handed the container open.  
Vegard took the box, inclining his head at Magnus slightly in a gesture of both understanding and comfort, before opening the cover. As he did so, he remembered some of the times they had spent as friends as colleagues in the office. A place of stress and work, but also a place of sanctuary for all their crazy ideas and their creativity. The scene of Bård asking for his help to write a new song including Calle, a place where his fun-loving brother could fool around in like the kid he was inside. Without Bård, it was unlikely there would be a career in comedy for him. Their world had become a sadder one too now that their family was smaller.  
So thinking, he tipped the box and let Bård's ashes fall. The breeze caught them, dispersing the cloud into the air and breaking them up, hitting their skin or the ground and crumbling there, or being carried further into the air. Within seconds, there was no sign that they had done anything.  
Vegard replaced the lid on the box.   
The Ylvisåker parents turned and went back to their house, leaving their remaining sons and Magnus behind, since they needed time to come to terms with their middle son's death and knew that the younger people had to talk about what they went through, too.   
Silence reigned as the remaining three mused on their own thoughts.  
None of the friends were willing to break the silence of the moment at first, ruin the solemnity through some clumsy statement that could never explain how they felt.  
Magnus raised his head to look into the sky, noting the few clouds and slight breeze, the warm sun and the faint sounds of nature and a distant light aircraft giving the background. "Bård would have liked this."  
"Bård would have taken in a mouthful of ashes the moment Vegard dropped them," said Bjarte and immediately wished he hadn't. The observation had just escaped without thought.  
But Vegard's mouth curled at the corners. "Yeah, just like Bård."  
"It just wasn't like him to notice anything as mundane as what was happening around him," said Magnus, smiling a little himself. "There was always something much better going on in his own thoughts."  
"He got real carried away with them too," added Bjarte.  
"It's hard not to catch his enthusiasm…" Vegard began with a grin and then his happy expression wilted a little and the silence they had previously been in returned.  
"I miss him," said Bjarte simply.  
Magnus nodded sombrely. "Me too. I miss all of them. I – I don't know where we're supposed to go from here."  
"We go forward," said Vegard determinedly. "We do what Bård would have done; remember our loved ones and never forgetting that we're still alive – and that they would want us to treasure that."  
He thought the others would argue with him, or maybe say it was impossible, or just not bother to reply. But Bjarte was nodding his head, agreeing with every word.  
"We keep it together," said Bjarte, holding out his hand, palm down. "For Bård."  
"For Bård," agreed Magnus, putting his hand atop Bjarte's.  
"For Bård," finished Vegard, joining them. For a moment he looked at the differing shapes of hands that made the physical form of their pact. It seemed wrong somehow without Bård's among them.  
They dropped their hands and a change went through the atmosphere. It was time to leave the past behind and see what the future held. The mourning period was over.  
Maagnus opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it and shut up. Bjarte looked at him irritably. "You've been doing that for days Magnus. If there's something on your mind, spit it out."  
Magnus shook his head. "I was just thinking. Bård worked out that the deaths came in the order he saw them in – even Maria knew something was going on and all she heard was Bård shouting about the accident beforehand and did some research. I was just wondering about her research, why out of the others who had a premonition of disaster like Bård's, none of them could work it out when they could."  
"We didn't believe it either," Vegard pointed out. "Maria wasn't as close to it as we were and Bård – well, he knew what he knew, he didn't have the luxury of choosing to believe or not. Perhaps other people realised, but didn't know the near-death experience would take them off the list. There are a lot of things that could have happened to them and all we can do is second guess."  
"Maybe there were some others who worked out the order and we just don't know about 'em," added Bjarte. "Not much you can tell from old newspapers and statistics."  
"I guess so," said Magnus, about to add something else when the noise from the light aircraft over head suddenly drowned out his words. "Hey, what the…?"  
The three friends looked up, shading their eyes against the sunlight. The aircraft, large enough to hold maybe two people, was directly over head, flying surprisingly low considering the trees and the houses nearby.  
As they watched, the engine stopped. There was no warning – the sound was suddenly gone. And the plane was plummeting toward them.  
Vegard took a step backward, his mind suddenly transported to the night the balloon had crashed down onto the stadium, the same night so many people had died and they had lived thanks to Bård's premonition. Like the night that he had lived because of Bård's foreknowledge that he was being targeted by some force they couldn't comprehend.  
He would never know if Bård would have seen this coming.  
The plane was small enough to see minimum casualties in the surrounding area, large enough so it was unlikely they had time to outrun it. There was nowhere to go. Their parents through, who were never in the stadium and had never been in any danger or cheated Death in any way, were safe within the walls of their home, but would have to mourn their other sons soon, too.  
Magnus had been right. There was no solution, no way to escape their fate. Bård's death had merely sent the circle going around again.  
Starting with Vegard.  
With less than three seconds gone since the plane began its fall, the structure gave in to some internal issue and the cabin burst into flames. Vegard imagined he could hear the pilot scream, but knew it had to be in his head.  
Bjarte, standing a foot or so behind him, Magnus a couple of metres further on. Both of them slated to die too.   
There would be no rest. Only fear, only constant vigilance, until they were taken – if there were any way out of this. It didn't look like it. The heat from the flaming ball that the plane was rapidly becoming made his skin flushed even from the distance. Not enough distance for escape.  
No escape. Death was coming for them.  
Spending his last thoughts on seeing Bård again soon, Vegard stepped forward to greet it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand we are at the end, I hope you enjoyed my psychopathic story xD Please don't kill me off like I did with the boys, all was entirely fictional, of course :) Have a wonderful 2016!


End file.
